With All Things
by witnesstoitall
Summary: Boy fancies girl, but cannot find the words to tell her. Woman cares for man, but cannot reconstruct his world. Time circles by without a care, and somewhere in the mix of it all, lives a love story. George/Angelina
1. George, August 1998

**George, August 1998**

George leaves his flat for a night on the town. 

_"He wasn't entirely sure he could answer either of those questions, but if he was ever going to be able to, he needed to continue living." _

* * *

The distinct popping sound outside his flat signalled to him that it was, in fact, time to give up on the search for his dragon-hide jacket and settle on the robe slung unceremoniously across the dirty-clothes hamper. After all, wearing a previously worn robe, though not quite as flashy as lime green dragon hide, was infinitely better than going out to a pub in his knickers. Surveying himself once over in the mirror, he quickly quashed the urge to shout over his shoulder at the now unused bedroom – a habit formed from a lifetime spent as half of a pair. He felt an all-too familiar lump rise up into his throat.

A firm knock at the door pulled him away from the borderline of his dangerous thought. He swallowed roughly and strode out to the kitchen.

"Lee, would you wait a bloody minute." George fumbled with the chain lock. "When you tell me you'll be here at seven, you've never been on time in the nine years I've known you – Ron?"

"Hey." Ronald stood in the dimly lit corridor. His hair stood up in tufts and his navy robes were soiled with dust. "Was at school all day. Figured I'd pop in." A speculative concern radiated from his eyes, his lips pursed tightly shut before he continued. "Found us some food, fish and chips?"

"Oh, well." George opened the door. "I've been cooking you know, at least trying – " Ron's eyes surveyed him thoroughly before he brushed by him and plopped down into a kitchen chair.

It had been two weeks since George had seen his younger brother, or any of his family, for that matter. His decision to move out of the Burrow and back to his flat had been met with long looks from his siblings, questions about whether or not he'd be able to manage, and tears from his mum. Truthfully, he hadn't known the answer to their questions. Living on his own was a skill he was slowly learning, on a trial-by-error basis. It was something he had to do, something he could not be doing inside the Burrow. He had needed to breathe away from their aggrieved, worried eyes if he was going to learn to stand on his own legs. As a result, he had been purposefully forcing himself to ignore the bits of parchment Errol had dropped on his window ledge every morning, each covered in his mum's tidy, care-ridden scrawl.

Glancing at his brother, he sighed and also sat down at the table. He should have figured she'd send out reconnaissance sooner or later. Ron was divvying out two large portions onto plates he had taken from the sink board. The tantalizing smell of fry grease tickled George's nose. In truth, it had been exactly two weeks since he had eaten something that did not come from a box with the instructions, "Tap twice with wand, wait five seconds, and repeat."

"Blimey, this smells fabulous." Ron grinned up at the steaming dish of food. "You've got any tartar?"

"It really does, and er, no." George watched his brother, waiting for him to drop some hint as to why he was there. "Slight chance there's some vinegar in the cupboard?"

Instead of rising to rummage through the barely organized shelves, Ron looked up from his plate and stared at him. The concern in his eyes felt like a chain, tying George to a grief with which he had slowly begun coexisting.

George sighed under his breath.

"So, er, how are you doing?"

There it was, the question that persistently reminded him that he shouldn't be okay accompanied by the look that said it stings to really look at you. The question meant well, he knew, but it also reminded him that no matter how hard he tried to forget, Fred was not in the next room. It reminded him that he was a twin, that he had always existed as a part of a whole and that he had never been an individual. The look filled his chest with an irrational feeling of guilt.

He stood up from the table and turned away from Ron. There had to be vinegar somewhere on his shelves.

"George?"

"What, Ron?" He turned back to face his brother.

"Mum's worried about you, you know." His voice sounded tired. The long hours spent helping to reconstruct the school showed in the dark circles beneath his eyes. He shifted in his seat, and took an enormous bite of his fish, watching George as he chewed.

"I know that, but I – "

"You haven't stopped by or written her back." Ron continued talking as he shoved another bite into his mouth. "You're in this flat all," he paused, swallowing roughly, "all by yourself. We've all wondered how you're getting along, wanted to check and see if you needed anything."

"Thanks." He ran his hand through his hair. Truth be told, George had asked himself the same things, but knew better than to wait for the answer. "I guess I just need to – "

"You really should eat some of this." His bother slid the second plate of food across the table towards him. "It really is tops."

The corner of George's mouth pulled up into a small grin at the gesture. "Little Ronnie offering me food? I must really look like a charity case." He slid the tray back across the table. "But I'm actually going out tonight."

Whatever reaction he was expecting – support, approval, even apathy – did not come. Instead, his brother's eyebrows shot up under his hairline, and his look of surprised quickly morphed into one of disbelief and concern. George quickly regretted divulging his plans. Opening the final kitchen cabinet, his hands closed around a mostly-empty bottle of vinegar.

"Vinegar?" he said, tossing the bottle across the small room.

Ron barely caught it before is tumbled onto the table. "So, you're going out, then?" He shook the bottle over his plate. A lilt of surprise hung on his voice.

"Just a few of the blokes from school, maybe some of the ladies." He picked a chip up from the plate Ron had made for him. "I'm not entirely sure, honestly."

A knock sounded from the door.

"That'd be Lee." George strode over to the door for the second time that evening. "Seventeen minutes late," he swung the door open, "not too shabby."

"I guess I'll be going." Ron stood up, scraping the remnants of the two plates back into the box. "George, if you ever need anything, or want to do something, Burrow's not too far. I'm going to leave this food here."

Bumping fists with Lee, more out of habit than actual salutation, George felt Ron's eyes linger on him for a moment before brushing past the two friends into the corridor.

"Good seeing you, Ron," he shouted out after his brother, turning his attention towards the new arrival to the flat.

"So." Lee's eyes flicked over George's briefly. "You sure you want to go out tonight?"

Ron had asked him how he was getting along, if he was doing okay. George inhaled. He wasn't entirely sure he could answer either of those questions, but if he was ever going to be able to, he needed to continue living.

"Yes, let's."

~::~

The Fizzing Whizbee was crowded by the time George and Lee arrived.

Though the makeshift dance floor in the centre of the pub sported only a few middle-aged couples sloppily stepping in arrhythmic circles, the outskirts of the floor were packed with clusters of younger witches and wizards. The air smelt of liquors and ales, and the peppy refrain of some wiz-pop song poured out through the wireless, drowning out the consistently rising voices of the patrons.

George glanced around at the crowd. Most everyone, save for the occasional bleary-eyed girl or two, looked so carefree and happy, and he found himself wishing he could leave behind all his thoughts and worries for the evening and blend into their mould. He knew that no matter how badly he may want to simply try to take a step forward, the eyes of his friends and classmates would reel him back into place. He had experienced it with his family members, with Ron earlier – looks that asked if him if he was okay and longed to make everything better. Their eyes served not as a consolation, but as a reminder. They had been the worst part of the past three months. Alone without Fred at his side, he felt as ostentatious a canary in a flock of ravens, and eyes seemed to follow him wherever he went. He ran his hand through the front of his hair. He had to stop thinking as he was, or else leaving his flat would have been a waste. Tonight was about trying to step forward, even if it turned out to be a failed attempt.

His eyes finally found large group of his classmates tucked away in the corner nearest to the bar. George raised his hand in greeting and, nudging Lee, made his way over to the section of tables.

A gaggle of Gryffindors had clustered themselves at one of the tables. The two years that had passed since they had all last been together in their common room had had a varying range of effects on the faces with which he had spent nearly seven years of his life. Geoffrey and Andrew looked largely the same, save for the thick black beard accenting the chin of the first and a shiny wedding band glinting under the lights on the ring finger of the second. He hadn't realized that Andrew had gotten married, and wondered who his bride was. Across the table from them sat Marjorie and Erin. The two girls looked as rehearsed as ever, though each girl's hair was a different colour from what he remembered. As was the case during their years at school, their mouths moved a mile a minute, though to whom exactly they were speaking to, George was not sure. Lora Paisley - Carmichael now - sat with a man George could only assume was the infamous Michael the Muggle. A small smile grazed his lips as he remembered how Angelina and Alicia used tease the poor girl about her Muggle beau.

"Lee." Lora's voice was bright, and she got up from her seat to throw her arms around his shoulders. Dropping her arms, she turned towards George. "George, I - erm, it's good to see you." Her arms hovered in the air awkwardly before she dropped them to her side. She studied him, almost cautiously, as though she didn't want him to break. "How've you been doing?"

And so it had begun.

George forcibly reminded himself that she only asked because she cared – that she didn't know he couldn't possibly begin to answer her question. "Some days are better than others," he finally said. The expression in her eyes did not change, and he found himself needing to step away. He turned the corners of his mouth up into what he hoped was a semi-believable smile to alleviate her worrying. "Well, I think I'm going to go and get a drink now."

The line at the bar was long.

A small pocket of his classmates stood ahead of him in the line. Libby McNaulty's voice rose over the sound of the pub as she regaled some tale of the Ministry approaching her to be a Secret-Keeper. George listened more intently as the story became more ridiculous.

"—and when I refused, the official grabbed my shoulders and looked me square in my eyes. He cleared his throat - he was probably nervous being so close to me - and told me that the Department of Mysteries had been waiting for somebody with my looks and brain." She paused, most likely for dramatic emphasis. "And I lifted my chin high and walked away. I'm not about to sell out for so little. I mean, it is only the Department of Mysteries, after all."

Eddie McDonald, Peregrine Cooke, and a few of the other guys around her seemed to pivot on their axes, trying to find a way to avoid her without losing their spot in line. George remembered back to his sixth year and let out a small chuckle. Whatever Lee had seen in her, he'd never be certain. Just as he was about to turn around to see who had gathered behind him in line, he heard a shift in Libby's voice and cringed.

"Oh my Merlin's dress robes, George Weasley?" Exhaling, he turned to face her. "I'm surprised to see you here. It was awful what happened to Fred." She tipped her head and batted her eyes sympathetically. "If you ever need somebody to talk to, I've been told that I work emotional magic."

She continued to bat her eyes at him as though she expected him to burst into tears or something. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, she left her spot in line and came back to stand next to him.

"It is okay to cry." She placed the palm of her hand on his chest. "I know that I did."

"Libby, you've got the heart of a cow." George turned to see Alicia standing behind him in line. She smiled at Libby so believably that he wondered if the Ravenclaw knew that she had just been insulted. "George," Alicia reached out and squeezed his arm.

Her eyes felt like a knife on his.

They held the same worry that everyone else's had, but they also held pain. Years of friendship, Quidditch, and laughs likely made it difficult for her to look at him. He understood this, having to look at himself in the mirror each day, but knowing his face affected Alicia made breathing difficult, as though something had grabbed his lungs and squeezed down on them.

"Thanks," he finally said. He purposefully avoided making eye contact with her.

Though she didn't ask him how he was doing, the strained silence where the question should have been felt just as awkward. As they stood in line together, he wondered whether or not he should have bothered coming out tonight, and whether he'd ever feel right again.

When at last they made it to the bar to order their drinks - a double firewhisky and a Fuzzy Cauldron - George had managed to shut off his thoughts. He downed his drink, and savoured the burning sensation that made its way down his throat and up into his sinuses. Turning away from the counter, he stopped and ordered a pint of ale for good measure. Standing in that line again was not something he wanted to do. Facing the tables once more, he looked around for Lee before following Alicia to a table. Lee was sitting with next to Indira Shah and seemed to be deep in conversation with her. George smiled, hoping she was enjoying their conversation as much as Lee appeared to be.

"So, have you seen Angelina yet?" Alicia's voice sounded casual, but her eyes suggested otherwise.

George paused mid-sip and set his mug down onto the table. He had assumed that Angelina was not at the pub since Alicia was alone. The two girls were nearly inseparable. His heartbeat increased slightly. Of all of his classmates he hadn't seen in ages, she was one of the few he earnestly wanted to see. The last time they had met had been so atypical, and he longed to, if nothing else, regain the comfortable normalcy they once shared.

"Er, no." He realized that Alicia had been waiting for an answer. "I didn't realize she was here."

"I'm not sure if she is or not. Something about having to pop home to see her mum." She took a long sip of her drink. "She was anxious to see you, though. I know she's worried about you."

What that comment was supposed to accomplish, he was not sure, but the hopes that had risen in his chest fell. Of course she was worried about him. Everyone was worried about him. He had buried his best friend and twin a little more than two months ago. It only made sense. George took a long gulp of his ale. Whatever normal relationship he once shared with her was likely to be marred with the same doe-eyed sympathy that had tainted his interactions with everyone else.

They lapsed back into a strained silence that was subsequently filled with several more drinks than he intended.

A commotion in the corner pulled George from his thoughts. Applause rose from the centre table which Lee hopped up onto moments later. A wide grin was plastered on his face and he held out his arms to silence their classmates. George felt a tinge of tears burn the back of his throat. Lee was his sole best mate now. A deep-seated appreciation welled up in his chest. He coughed and cleared his throat, composing himself for whatever it was Lee was about to say or do.

"Witches and wizards and everything in between." He paused as a rumble of laughter passed through the crowd. "Nine years ago, we were all skinny, naive kids, but somehow we turned out pretty damn well. After everything that's happened over the past year, it's bloody brilliant to know that we are still a family." His words, influenced from the alcohol he had consumed, slurred together slightly. "And we've been through a lot together - cauldron explosions, Quidditch feuds, crushes and heart breaks and awful dates. We've been through Dementors and balls - both equally frightening, mind you - jokes and pranks, Umbridge, Nifflers, those awful creatures Hagrid made us feed." More laughter rippled through the group. "But we've been through much, much more than that." The tone of his voice changed. "And not all of us can be here to laugh and get pissed tonight. We came of age into something bigger than any of us. But we did what we had to do, and here we are. The best damn class Hogwarts ever had the privilege of educating." He lifted up his mug and waited for them to all follow suit. "To us and everything we've done and will do."

George took a sip of the firewhisky in his hand.

"To the love and friendships in this room."

He winced as the second sip slid down his throat.

"And most importantly," Lee continued, "to the best of us. To Cedric Diggory – "

The crowd echoed his words.

" – to Mary Ackerley and Bradley Dunstan –"

A second echo snaked through the class.

" – and to," Lee's voice cracked, "one of my very best mates and best men I've ever known, Fred Weasley – " He drained his mug before continuing.

The echo of Fred's name did not immediately rush through the party; instead, a slow ripple of heads turned towards George, as if they were waiting for him to add to the toast. The looks of pity, sympathy, care, concern and curiosity prompted the taste of the alcohol he had just swallowed to rise in the back of his throat. Whatever prompted him to come out with Lee this evening, he regretted. A heavy numbness flooded his body. He rose to his feet and turned towards the door. He needed to be away from this.

"May they have all the peace and happiness, wherever it is they are," he heard Lee conclude as he made his way towards the door.

And echoing of "Here here!" filled the room as he left the pub.

Not entirely sure that he would actually make it back to his flat if he Apparated at that point in time, George sat down on a bench outside of the Fizzing Whizbee. Though the pounding of the music could still be heard from the open doors, the street felt peaceful. He shut his eyes and inhaled deeply.

"George?"

His name was a question on the familiar voice, and he groaned inwardly. He did not know if he could bear her sympathies on top of the rest of the evening, but his desire to see her won out. George turned towards Angelina, preparing himself to stomach another concerned look and to tell her that he didn't know how he was.

"Care to budge over so I can sit down too?" She squeezed beside him on the bench. "It really is a nice night. Finally no rain."

Her comment caught him off-guard and he felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards.

"Has it been raining a lot lately?" It had been several weeks since he had spent any considerable time outside.

"It has been. You know, I don't blame you for sitting out here, it was so stuffy in there."

She looked the same as she had when he last had seen her, but more relaxed. Her thigh barely brushed against his as she shifted into a more comfortable position. He felt at ease for the first time all evening, and inhaled deeply. The scent of her perfume filled his nose. It was different than it used to be, but nice.

"You smell good." He braved looking up at her face.

Her dark eyes looked back into his. They did not look concerned or sympathetic, but rather held the content sort of smile one has when they are reunited with an old friend.

"So, since I know how much you love dancing," she said, staunching her giggle and still looking at him, "care for a little dance? Remember old times, and whatnot?"

She rose to her feet and reached down for his hand.

It had been so long since he had last touched her, and so much had changed – they both had - that he was unsure of where to place his hands as he rose to his feet. Laying them on her sides, he began following her lead in a slow circle to the beat oozing out from the pub. He considered moving his hands higher up, or back, or somewhere, when he felt her lay her hands over his. They were warm.

"Right here is fine, George." She smiled before returning her own hands to his shoulders. "You know you're still an awful dancer, don't you?"

And for the first time that evening, a genuine laugh poured out of his chest.

~::~


	2. Angelina, Early December 1994

**Angelina, December 1994 **

Angelina's plans for the Yule Ball take an unexpected upswing.

_Fred slid onto the sofa next to her and genially tossed his arm around her shoulder. "I have a proposition for you."_

* * *

Angelina Johnson pushed her long braids back from her face and behind her shoulder as she walked, making a mental note to con Lora into to using a trimming spell on her hair sometime before the ball. One of her dormitory mates, and closest friends, Lora was, more often than not, brilliant with her wand, and Angelina only really trusted her for spells of this sort. She shuddered remembering the time she had allowed one of her older sisters, Elise, to cut her hair. When all was said and done, her hair had more closely resembled a well-groomed poodle than a thirteen year old girl's hair.

The grand staircase was crowded. The younger students were scrambling between their classrooms, hoping that they'd make it to their seats on time for their next course. The sixth and seventh years, now into their N.E.W.T. coursework, were on their way to a variety of locations. Angelina squeezed by a large group of Gryffindor fourth years, debating the intricacies of some potion, towards the library stairwell. Alicia Spinnet followed closely behind. Having discontinued the study of Herbology, they both had a free block of time and had resignedly agreed to spend it in the library.

"Angelina," Alicia trotted down the corridor beside her friend. "There are only seventeen days left – seventeen. We really should figure something out." She pulled the strap of her bag back up onto her shoulder. "Oh, did I tell you? He looked at me in the Great Hall this morning."

Angelina smirked at her best friend. "What happened to the whole, 'we're the Gryffindor chasers, we don't need dates, blah blah – independent witch – blah' routine?"

The girls paused outside the library, granting a habitual glance to the large notice board. A collection of parchment pieces – exam reviews, tutors, lost items, the like – cluttered its surface. Each one bore the stamp of Madam Pince's approval. Angelina suppressed a laugh, remembering the crotchety librarian's response when, several months ago, the twins had posted an advertisement looking for aging solution ingredients without her prior knowledge. If only she had seen the result of their resulting aging solution, even she may have cracked a smile.

"Now one supposed look from Eddie McDonald," she dropped her voice to a whisper as they crossed the library's threshold, "and you're ready to renounce your education and resign to a life of household charms and cookbooks."

Alicia glared at her. "Very funny. He did look at me, even smiled. But there's no way that tosser is going to man up enough to actually ask me." She pulled out a chair at an empty study table and plopped into it. "Hufflepuff."

"Well, then we revert to the original plan." Angelina sat down across the table. "You, Lora and I will look fabulous, go to the ball, dance, laugh at Erin and Marjorie, and have an amazing time. I've already turned down Geoffrey and Peregrine Cooke in favour of this plan, and besides, you two are better looking than any of the sorry blokes in our year " Her face split into a reassuring smile; Alicia's face did not, her mouth opening to protest. "Except for dear Eddie of course."

Angelina laughed at herself. She loved Alicia, but poking fun at her crush on the soft-spoken, wavy-haired Hufflepuff was far too amusing to bypass. If the two ever actually dated, she knew that her best friend would quickly grow tired of him. Alicia's crush, she was fairly sure, was not on the poor boy as much as on his inaccessibility.

The library was crowded. Groups of sixth year students, a group of Hufflepuff boys, Eddie included, a handful of Ravenclaws, a couple of Slytherins, smattered the collection of study tables. Their most recent assignment for Professor McGonagall was the likely culprit behind the occupied cubicles. Thin streams of sunlight crept in through the tall windows, making the rows of ancient books look even older and dustier than they did in the evening. The table that Alicia had commandeered sat near the middle of the library, tucked between the recent copies of the _Daily Prophet_ and other social media publications. Angelina did not fail to notice that from their seats, they had a convenient view of Eddie and his mates.

"You're shameless, you know?" Angelina laughed shaking her head in amused disappointment.

"So where is Lora?" Alicia asked, pointedly ignoring the teasing. "Wasn't she supposed to meet us here? I'm completely hopeless at this stuff without her."

"You and I both." Angelina rummaged through her bag, searching for her quill. "I think she said that she was stopping in the Owlery, sending a letter to her Michael no doubt – do you have an extra quill?"

Lora had met Michael the Muggle – as Alicia called him – in primary school, a full six years before the two had learned that magic was real and what the word Muggle meant. It never mattered how often Lora tried to assure the two girls that they were her best friend, Angelina knew that that role had been filled a long time ago over building blocks and wax crayons. _And Michael _followed Lora's name as naturally as though it were a part of her name, and so when the two had begun dating the previous year, Angelina had only responded with a smile that clearly said "it's about time."

"I only have this old quill." Alicia frowned, sliding a stiff blackened quill across the table. She made an effort of opening their large _Advanced Transfiguration_ book and made it through the cover and table of content pages. "Merlin, I hate this stuff. I'd much rather be doing revisions for just about any other course."

"Potions?"

"Alright any other course besides this or potions."

"Potions itself isn't terrible," Angelina dipped the old, less-than-fabulous quill, into her ink pot and tested it out on the top corner of her parchment. "It's always logical, even if the Professor is far from it."

"Lora is certainly taking her time in the Owlery." Alicia glanced towards the door as though their friend was about to walk through the door at any second. "I wonder," she continued, twirling a chunk of her long brunette hair on her finger, "if Michael the Muggle's parents are ever suspicious about the owls that tend to hang out near their son's window. I just think that'd be awkward to try and explain."

"Oh, I'm sure it was and will be." The quill still not writing, she jabbed it at the parchment with vengeance. "But, I mean, my parents did it somehow, and it seems to have worked out for them."

"Your parents did what exactly?"

Angelina dropped her quill and turned to see a smirking Lee Jordan standing over their table. A wide grin was plastered across his face and he wagged his eyebrows suggestively. It was clear that he found himself to be highly amusing.

"Lee, you amaze me – "

"Merlin, Angie, don't flatter me like that."

" – how you can make such good marks, spending so much of your time in the gutter like you do." She smiled at him. Teasing Lee was a staple in her day-to-day activities as teasing her was in his.

A faux expression of pain flashed across his face and he clutched his hands to his chest. "Your words are so hurtful, Johnson. I'm such a martyr, putting up with all of your abuse." He plopped himself into the chair the girls had been saving for Lora. "Paisley ditching out on you two?"

"She's in the Owlery, sending her post to Michael the Muggle." Alicia smiled rolling her eyes. "Apparently her _beau_ is more important than either of us or our transfigurations marks." She looked down at her still-blank parchment and sighed. Angelina could see her push her concerns about the course from her mind and she looked back up to Lee. "So, Mr. Jordan, to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit too?"

"Thank you for asking Alica." He turned towards Angelina, a smirk plastered on his face. "Poor Angie here seems to have forgotten her manners." Angelina felt her eyes roll; today was not a day that she was going to win their battle of teasing. "It's a shame really. If I thought she'd appreciate it more, I'd have asked her to the ball. We'd have been the best looking couple on the dance floor. But, things being the way they are, I'll just have to ask Libby."

"Libby McNaulty?" Angelina said, ignoring the feigned expression of resignation on Lee's face.

"No, the other Libby in our year," Alicia said, rolling her eyes.

"Why, jealous Johnson?"

"You've been talking about asking her to go with you for weeks." Angelina suppressed a laugh. "You mean to tell me you haven't even asked her yet? You better hurry or some other sorry bloke will have snatched her off the market."

"I'm working on it. Have you heard of other blokes wanting to ask her?" She could see a hint of self-doubt flash in his eyes.

"Lee, nobody else has braved imagining asking her to the ball." Alicia tossed the textbook she had been pretending to look at onto the table. "She's terrifying. I'm sure she's all yours."

"Alicia – " Angelina kicked her friend under the table. "She's a lovely girl; she's just an egotistical toad, is all." She turned her attention back to Lee, her voice sweet. "And no, I haven't heard of anyone else wanting to ask her, but all the foreign boys are starting to move in on the Hogwarts girls so you should hurry."

He leaned back in his chair and ran his hand across his head. "You think so?"

"Yes, Lee." She turned around and surveyed the groups of people sprinkled throughout the library. "She's sitting over there with Indira and Shannon and few other Ravenclaws, you should go ask her now."

"Well, George and Fred are still argu – figuring out what they're doing for the ball, and erm – " His voice trailed off into space, and he was quiet for a moment. "You're right, Johnson. I should ask her, and I will. If Spinnet here asks that sap McDonald to the ball. Everyone knows you've been drooling over him for weeks, just yesterday Marjorie and Erin were talking about it in the Great Hall."

Alicia flapped her mouth opened and shut like a great fish. Whatever words she wanted to spit at Lee seemed to have been trapped.

"Unless you want me to ask him for you?" He smirked.

Alicia sprang up out of her chair as though it has shocked her. Her face was red and her eyebrows had furrowed together. "Don't you dare, Lee Jordan." She finally managed to regain the power of speech. "If anyone is going to make an arse of me, it sure as hinkypunks is going to be me."

Angelina watched in amusement as she marched across the library to the table where Eddie McDonald sat with Cedric Diggory, Peregrine Cooke and a couple other Hufflepuff boys and disappeared behind a shelf of books. She glanced over at Lee who was still leaning back in his chair. "Shouldn't you be asking Libby to the ball?"

Lee leaned forward, dropping the front legs of the chair onto the stone floor. The sound resonated through the library and earned him a stern look from Madam Pince at the front desk. "Alright, alright. I'll go ask her. Where'd you say she was sitting?"

"Near the row of shelves with all the charms texts? She's sitting next to Indira."

As Lee walked away, Alicia came skipping back towards their table. A large grin was plastered on her face and her eyes practically shouted triumph. Angelina sighed before smiling across the library at her friend. At least Lora was still planning on going to the ball stag. It was the small resilient shred of their plan left intact.

~::~

Having accomplished precisely three lines of her Transfiguration Essay in the library, Angelina sat on her own in the steadily emptying common room hunched over the wooden study table. Though she was now up to twelve lines, she wished she had gotten more accomplished earlier that day. By the time Lora had joined her and Alicia in the library and had been brought up to date on all the latest Yule Ball news, the girls had decided that it was too late for productivity and that dinner was in order. At least she could find work as a professional procrastinator if her N.E.W.T.s next year didn't work out the way she hoped.

Sighing, she looked down at her tidy scrawl on the parchment and dipped her quill tip into the ink well. A drop of the black ink dripped down onto her parchment, spreading slowly across the words she had just written.

Now that they had finished dinner, Alicia was off with a group from her Ancient Runes course and Lora had disappeared to Professor Burbage's office – she spent a lot of time with the Muggle Studies professor helping her organize all her gizmos and gadgets into logical files.

Angelina swore under her breath, dabbing at the blotch with the tip of her wand. She looked up as the portrait door from the stairwell swung open. Lora walked through the entrance, her bag slung over her shoulder and her blonde hair pulled back from her face. She waved to her friend from the table.

"How was filing?"

Lora walked towards the table and slid down into a chair across from Angelina and shrugged her shoulders. Her eyes were puffy as though she had been crying.

"Are you okay?" Angelina leaned forward across the table, pushing a tin of biscuits her way. "What happened?"

Lora frowned, picking a custard cream from the assortment. She nibbled at it and chewed for a minute. "It's nothing, really, but I didn't do any filing. I just wanted to talk to Professor Burbage," she paused, "about Michael and stuff. She's great at listening, it's just that, I don't even know." She sighed and picked a second custard cream from the tin. "Just ignore me. I'm on a whinging binge this evening."

"As long as you know it," Angelina smiled at her friend to let her know she was only teasing. Lora offered up a weak smile in return. "Are things alright with Michael?"

"Oh, they're fine I suppose. We just had a bit of a row in our last few letters." She picked up a third biscuit and looked at it before placing it back into the tin. "Merlin knows I don't need another. But he's a bit bent out of shape that he won't get to see me until the summer. And it's not even like I'm thrilled about it either. I miss him loads. I just want to hear his voice and see his face. But he's all upset that some ball is more important than he is."

Angelina nodded as Lora continued.

"It was sort of funny, actually. He got all ridiculous and asked if there was another bloke." She giggled. "I could picture him with his scrawny chest all puffed up. Bloody hell, I miss that boy."

A smile seeped out onto Angelina's face despite the fact that she could see her plans for a girls' night at the Yule Ball swirling down the plumbing. "You should go home for Christmas and see him."

"I promised you and Alicia that we'd all go to the ball together. And Alicia has already ditched you for her latest fancy, I couldn't do that." Her face clearly told Angelina that with a bit of encouragement, she'd be on the first train car back to London.

"Lora," she plucked one of the remaining biscuits from the tin before Lora had a chance to be cross with herself for eating another, "tell Michael the Muggle Happy Christmas from me, yeah?"

A huge smile broke out across her face and she picked up her stack of books from the table. "I love you, Angelina." She called over her shoulder as she made her way toward the steps to the girl dormitories. "I'm going to go write Michael again so that he'll stop sulking."

Angelina sighed. Turning her attention back to her essay, her thoughts wandered to her emerald and gold dress that was hanging in her wardrobe upstairs. She was more than happy to go to the ball dateless with her best friend at her side, but going to the ball dateless and alone was another story entirely. She wished for a moment that her original plans had worked out, but quickly chided herself for the selfish feeling that rose up in her chest. It was a good thing that Alicia finally got up the nerve to talk to Eddie, and a great thing that Lora would be able to see Michael the Muggle. There was still time to make plans for the ball.

Conceding to the fact that she was not making any progress on her essay, she began rolling up the parchment. From the corner of her eye she saw the profiles of George and Fred Weasley walk through the portrait hole.

"Angelina, fancy seeing you here in the common room by yourself." Fred shouted much too loudly across the common room. She watched as he gesticulated no- so subtly to his twin. Either not comprehending or not willing to play along, she couldn't quite tell, George shook his head and made his way up the stairs to the boy dormitories.

She rolled her eyes amiably; there was never any telling what they were up to exactly until they were ready for it to be known. "Well I'm on my way out, Fred. Did you need something?"

"Actually, I apparently do." He mumbled something incoherently towards the boys' staircase.

She waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she flopped down onto the sofa and propped her feet onto the stool in front of it. Fred slid onto the sofa next to her and genially tossed his arm around her shoulder. "I have a proposition for you."

"Okay?" A proposition. She fought the urge to roll her eyes in amusement.

"How would you like to go to the ball with me?"

How would she like to go to the ball with Fred? This sounded like the beginnings of a feasible, makeshift plan. "Well, all my other plans fell through, no offence to you or anything, but sure. I'll go to the ball with you."

"Can you keep a secret?" He asked slipping his arm back from around her shoulders and rising to his feet. Scepticism and curiosity tingled under her skin. She raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue. "No offence, but my intricately laid plans fell through as well."

Angelina felt the laughter spill out of her chest and she rose to her feet as well. "Well dear Fred, here is to botched plans and dead awesome second options." She patted him on the back and made her way towards her dormitory.

~::~


	3. George, September 1998

**George, September 1998 **

George catches Lee by surprise and is himself surprised by a visitor.

_"I didn't mean to startle you – should have written, or knocked at least. It's just, your door was open, and so I just let myself in."_

* * *

The days following the impromptu class reunion at the Fizzing Whizbee passed slightly quicker than the months prior to it had. It was a small, mostly insignificant change, but George had taken to leaving his tiny window open to the outside environment. Granted, the air that filtered into his flat felt stale and tasted urban and over-used – it definitely was not the fresh air he had grown up breathing in the countryside surrounding the Burrow – but nevertheless, it seemed to carry a hint of vitality that had been missing from the flat's congested interior.

George rolled his face away from the deep imprint it had made in his pillow. The September sunlight was warm on his skin, and the sound of the hustle and bustle on the street below flitted into his ears through the open window. The cackle of the old hag selling gurdyroot on the corner, the rustling of the shoppers' cloaks meandering down the alley, and the clear voice passing out brochures for the weekend's Quidditch match gave the illusion that he wasn't alone in the flat. Running his tongue over his teeth, he slowly opened his eyes to the brightness. The digits of his bedside clock told him that it was nearly two in the afternoon. He groaned before pushing himself up into a sitting position. The lines defining day and night had become blurred since he had moved back in above Diagon Alley, and his sleep schedule had been awry at best. He knew that he should really try and regain some semblance of normalcy in his daily schedule, and intended to, but he also knew that the road to Salazar's grave was paved in good intentions. Exhaling, he shuffled off the edge of his bed towards his kitchen.

Flicking his wand at the kettle on the stove top, George forward and opened the door of the icebox. His stomach gave an audible growl, and he cursed himself for procrastinating on a much needed trip to the food shop. The lone box of cereal in his cabinet was empty except for the crumbs in the bottom of the bag – exactly why he had not yet thrown it away was a mystery. Even if he had cereal, he was certain that the quart of milk on the top shelf was not supposed to have chunks floating in it as it currently did.

Settling on plate of left over, take away noodles of questionable age, he stood back and hastily shoveled the first bite into his mouth. He immediately wished he had been born with a tad more patience. The offensive noodles tasted as awful about as he imagined Filch's dirty socks would. He scraped the rest of the old plate into the rubbish bin as his stomach growled with more insistence. Resigning to consuming a kettle of tea for breakfast, he slumped down into a kitchen chair. With no milk or honey for his tea, the steaming liquid tasted bitter as it seared its way down his throat.

A small stack of post lay neatly on the edge of the table. George picked up the envelope on the top of the stack. A chirp of approval sounded from the coat rack standing in the corner of the room.

"Shall we check the post, Oddie?" A red-coloured crested owl fluttered down from his perch onto the table and nipped at George's fingers. "Let's see what we have here, boy." He shuffled through the stack of mail, reading aloud to the small owl. "Letter from Mum. A notice for this month's rent. One, two, four advertisements – one for that new café down the alley. Another letter from Verity – Merlin, this is the second one she's sent this week. Wanting to know about the shop, no doubt. I don't - I just can't."

He tossed Verity's letter and the advertisements into the rubbish bin next to the old noodles. He took a large gulp of his tea and, running his hand through his hair, looked back at the now much-smaller stack of mail in his hands.

"Oddie, one of these days I'm going to train you to only bring the mail I want to open." The owl hopped up onto his shoulder and clacked his beak as if in response. "Look at me, Oddie – sitting here, in my empty kitchen, listening to the sounds from the alley, drinking tea for breakfast, talking to a bloody owl."

George patted the owl's extravagant fringe.

"A second letter from Mum – she's a determined woman. A letter from Lee. And last but not least, a – "

His voice trailed off like the end of one of his mum's old records. The final letter from the pile was addressed to _Misters Fred and George Weasley_. Despite the tea he had just drunk, his mouth felt dry and the corners of his eyes tingled. The sight of his and Fred's name, penned side by side on the envelope, was a sharp reminder of what he had been and never again would be a part of. He wondered how much time would pass until people stopped addressing post to Fred. A small dark corner of his mind quietly hoped that they never would, that he would always have at least an envelope that believed his twin was alive and well.

His breath caught in his lungs and his vision blurred. He hated this, feeling so powerless to normal events. He had only looked at his bloody post. Running his hand through his hair, he rapidly blinked his eyes and forced himself to swallow. The envelope was still grasped in his fingers, and he made himself look at the address once more.

_Misters Fred and George Weasley_.

"Ah, Oddie," he said, turning the envelope over, hiding Fred's name from sight, "I really out to get out of this flat. Fancy Lee will want some company? He never works on Saturdays."

The small owl chirped and fluttered off of his shoulder and out the open crack in the kitchen window. A slight breeze blew in, and George inhaled it deeply. He needed to continue moving forward. Nothing good had come from sitting around. Leaving the kettle, his mug and the mail on the table top, George rose to his feet. His stomach gave another loud grumble. Perhaps Lee's place would have something edible that he wouldn't have to drink.

~::~

A light was visible beneath Lee's door when George reached the top floor of the old Muggle building. More as a formality than to actually announce himself, George knocked and opened the door to his best friend's flat.

"Lee?" George called over his shoulder as he made his way through the sitting room to the kitchen. The icebox was full of food, and he momentarily forgot about letting his old dormitory mate know that he was there. Images of large sandwiches, crisps, and biscuits danced through his mind, and he set to work rummaging through the cabinets. He was a man of priorities, after all.

With a plate piled high with food he did not purchase, George settled into an ancient, overstuffed chair in the corner of the sitting room. Project scarf Lee's food before he realized that it had been nicked commenced, and he shoved far too much corned beef into his mouth. He scrutinised his plate and shoved several crisps into his mouth for good measure. Lee was probably reciting his latest routine into a hair comb in front of his mirror or something – he took his broadcasting job very seriously.

A shrill, feminine scream pulled his attention up away from the food.

"George Weasley?"

Indira Shah, the quiet girl from their year who had always been with Libby, stood in the doorway leading back to Lee's bedroom and office. To say her face looked surprised would have been an understatement. Her jaw hung slack and her eyes were wide.

"Indira," George said, trying his hardest to ignore the fact that the girl was clothed only in an oversized button-up shirt and that her long legs were much shapelier than he would have expected. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Fancy seeing me here?" The pitch of her voice was high and panicky. "Fancy seeing me here? Bloody Merlin, I can't even – what are you doing here, don't you knock?"

"George." Lee had appeared behind Indira in the hallway. "I, er, I didn't hear you come in. We were, we were, um, going over some notes for next week's broadcast."

George cocked an eyebrow and smiled at his friend.

"Well, I am, I should go and make sure," Indira said, stepping back from the doorway, "check those notes." Her voice had returned to a more human pitch and trailed off as she turned away from the sitting room.

Waiting until she had disappeared through one of the hall's doorways, George turned to Lee, still smiling. "So, do you always review your broadcasts with trouser-less, leggy women?" A deep laugh rolled out of his chest.

"Stop laughing, George." Lee's voice betrayed him and a rich chuckle slipped out from his serious façade.

"You and Indira, huh?" George continued when he had finally caught his breath.

Waiting for Lee's response, he shoved another large bite of his corned beef sandwich into his mouth. Project scarf the food had clearly been derailed, and so he may as well enjoy it now.

Lee glanced over his shoulder down the hall and slid onto the sofa. "When you didn't show up for lunch, we just assumed you weren't coming, and so one thing lead to another and broadcast editing happened." Lee smiled across the room. "And then you appear in the sitting room eating all my groceries as though you've been living on tea or something. Where were you for lunch?"

"Lunch?" George asked between the last two bites off his plate. "Is that what you wrote about? I never even got out of bed until two – my sleeping habits are atrocious – I got the letter, just didn't get around to reading it. Doesn't look like you two missed me too much." He grinned.

"You're never going to let us live this down, are you?"

"Oh, no. I'll let Indira live it down. She seemed nice enough, and I don't know her well enough not to. But you, on the other hand – " He allowed his voice to trail off for dramatic emphasis. "So, how long have you two been, er, editing broadcasts or dating or whatever it is you're doing? I saw you talking to her at the Fizzing Whizbee."

"We started seeing each other back in March." At the surprised look on George's face, Lee spoke faster. "During Potterwatch. I worked so closely with her dad with all the broadcasting - stop laughing, actual broadcasting, but with the war and whatnot, we just never told anybody. And then, when it was all over, we didn't want to tell you, what with Fred and everything."

George winced at the sound of Fred's name, but just barely. Lee was one of the few people who ever mentioned Fred by name in conversation with him, and for that, he was grateful.

"And now you know," Lee continued, "even though this may have not been the ideal way for you to find out. Fortunate we tried it out on you, and not her parents or something."

George chuckled, imagining his own mother's face if she'd have walked in on a trouser-less woman in his flat. "Don't her parents know you're dating?"

Lee's lips pursed together. "Nah, Indira says they wouldn't approve of me. So, we just sort of take it a day at a time and hope they don't find out. Not to change the subject, but did that Verity girl get a hold of you? I ran into her in London yesterday. She says that she's written you a couple times and you haven't responded or whatever."

George sighed.

"Well, if it's personal or whatev – "

"It's nothing personal, Lee." George ran his hands through his hair. "It's just that I know her letters are about the store. Inventory, or ideas or whatever. I just, I don't know. I just am not ready to think about anything like that just yet. I'm also not ready to look into anything. There is an entire closet in our - my flat that is filled with ideas and sketches. It's all there now, so it'll be there whenever I do decide I'm ready to go through his - our things."

"There's no rush, George. You just have to do what you do, when you're ready to do it." Lee stood up from the sofa and stretched. "Now, I think I ought to go and check on Indira and her pride. I'll be right back."

~::~

Indira eventually did come out of Lee's bedroom. When she did, she was fully dressed and did not look at George as though he were a Dementor hovering in the sitting room. People really didn't put enough stock in second impressions. Though her smiles and input into the threesome's conversation felt slightly strained, Lee had assured George later that evening on his way out of the flat that Indira loved him.

George had smiled, winking over his best friend's shoulder at Indira, and said, "I've got excellent hearing, and heard it's not a difficult thing to do."

It really had been a good day.

A content smile passed over George's face as he tapped the door of his flat door with his wand. The interior was as vacant and quiet as ever, but the emptiness and silence didn't weigh on him like an oppressive hand. Instead, it felt relaxing. Flicking his wand at the dusty wireless sitting in the corner, he slid down onto his sofa as the music filled the room.

Picking up a magazine from the side table, he glanced at the date on the cover. _July_ 1998. His eyes stared at the words on the page, but they did not reread the article on the re-instatement of Britain's Quidditch League. Instead, they flicked between the glossy page and the closet on the wall opposite where he sat. Years of hard work, and memories – souvenirs from late night raids of the castle and less-than-moral business dealings sat, carefully packaged in boxes behind the wooden door. Verity wanted to know his inventory count, no doubt. She was very insistent on finishing up her marketing statistics before Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes faded into the background of Diagon Alley's memory. George was numb and wonderfully ignorant about the future of the WWW name. He could care less about Verity's statistics or her inventory. It was the potential of closure, of a temporary walk with his twin that drew his attention towards the door, and guided his feet across the floor, and raised his hand towards the cool brass doorknob.

Every inch of available space behind the door was filled with boxes of all sizes and shapes.

Inhaling the dusty air, George lifted the first box from the closet and set it out on the sitting room floor. He wasn't entirely sure that he was ready for this, but his arms and back continued unloading the storage space. Before long, he sat amidst dozens of cardboard boxes and crates. Carefully, he pulled the flap of the first box open.

The tin at the top of the box's contents was filled with small sweets wrapped in bright, yellow-coloured foils. _Canary Creams_. A smile spread across his face as he rolled one between his fingers. The foul sweets had been one of their first products to undergo major trial runs. Fred had been the first to try the finished product, and had made a spectacularly interesting bird – especially during his moult. A short chuckle broke the silence in the flat as George recalled an image of Fred standing in an unused classroom they had commandeered for testing their products. He was completely covered in yellow down save for his bright red hair, but his features had been very human – not a beak or wing in sight. That first batch of Canary Creams had been far from foolproof, and seemed to accessorize the consumer's bare skin with a layer of feathers instead of transfiguring them into a songbird. Trials two and three had gone much smoother, and the issues with the hair colouring and the missing bird features were resolved. Only weeks later, standing surrounded by a flock of second and third year canaries in the otherwise empty common room, George and Fred had clapped each other on the backs. They had done it – Canary Creams were a marketable commodity.

George tossed the cream up into the air and snatched it, setting it back down into the box.

"Nice catch, Ace."

He jumped and glanced over his shoulder.

"Sorry." Angelina stood just inside the flat. "I didn't mean to startle you – should have written, or knocked at least. It's just, your door was open, and so I just let myself in."

Of course George was startled; he certainly hadn't expected Angelina to pop by for a visit. It had been over a week since he had seen her at the pub and spoken to her, and even then the alcohol he had consumed blurred any memory of conversation that had taken place between them. He knew he ought to give her some indication that he had heard her – stand up from behind the boxes, invite her in from the doorway, say hello at the very least, but the words were thick on his tongue.

"Are these –" Her voice trailed off as she glanced around the room at all of the cardboard boxes. "If this is a bad time, I could just – "

"No, no. Come in." Words had finally appeared in his mouth, and George jumped to his feet. "I've gone and forgotten my manners. Sit down, please."

"Are you sure, George?" She sat herself on the sofa. "I don't really have anything particular to talk about, and, well, you look like you're in the middle of something."

Slowly lowering himself back onto the floor, George smiled up at Angelina. "I'm just going through some of Fred's and my things." He fished through the box nearest him and grabbed a small phial. "It's really great to see you here, Angelina. I can't say I was in the best of shapes last time I saw you." He patted the space on the ground next to him.

"Well, perhaps you should dance drunk more often, I had a splendid time – "

"You said I was still an awful dancer – "

" – you only tramped on my feet twice the whole evening." She had moved and was sitting next to him on the floor. She smiled and pushed a thick chunk of his hair from his face. "I consider that a major improvement."

"Ah." George turned his face from hers, nudging her shoulder with his own. "This," he trained his attention on the phial in his hand, "is the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. It was all Fred's idea. He was always a bit gutsier with our more suspicious dealings. Met with this Peruvian goblin-looking wizard whose face was all wrapped in bandages." He paused to look over at Angelina. She leaned her shoulder against his, as though she were a young child preparing herself for story time. "You're comfortable? We don't have to sit on the floor if you'd prefer the sofa. I do have furniture."

"I'm comfortable if you are."

"Right." Though he didn't say anything, he was very comfortable there, on the floor with Angelina on his shoulder and the world of his youth at his fingertips. George tipped the phial and watched the powder rush towards the side. "You should have heard his jokes after I lost my ear and _my head_ was bandaged. I have to admit, they were pretty clever."


	4. Angelina, Late December 1994

**Angelina, December 1994 **

Angelina attends the Yule Ball with one twin but ends up with the other.

_"Oi. George, I've got some business to attend to if you'd be so kind as to look after my date?" _

* * *

The last few days leading up to the winter holiday and the Yule Ball crawled by in an endless parade of essays, assignments, and deadlines.

The blank, nearly robotic looks on her classmates' faces as they filed into their Charms term examination and their sunken-in sleep deprived eyes made her wish she had woken up early enough to have dabbed a bit of powder onto her face before racing down to breakfast. As it was, she had only got out of bed after some fervent shaking from Lora. Alicia, always nervous before examinations, had left their dorm already and the two girls had had to run down to the Great Hall to meet her. Angelina had promptly spilled her tea on herself and, after a quick Scourgify spell, decided she wasn't meant to eat breakfast that morning. If her state of mind was any reflection of the rest of the sixth year, the winter holiday and its ball could not come soon enough.

The Charms term examination was the last obstacle separating them from a momentary freedom from academics. Three essay prompts, two feet of her neatest penmanship, and several creative explanations for the intricate workings of Bubble-Head Charms later, Angelina sat in her cramped wooden desk looking up at the clock in the front of the classroom. The sound of Alicia's bouncing leg next to her told her that she was nearly finished with her essays as well. Behind her, she could hear George, or maybe Fred - without turning around, she couldn't be certain - tapping their quill against their inkwell. Lora had finished her exam several minutes earlier and was most likely waiting in the hall for her friends. Angelina exhaled. With exactly seven minutes left in the exam block, she was finished. Glancing over her lines of slanted scrawl, she signed her name with a little more flourish than necessary and rolled up the scroll of parchment.

It was finally winter holiday. Slipping her bag up onto her shoulder, she dropped her exam onto Professor Flitwick's desk and wished him a 'Happy Christmas.' As expected, Lora sat on a stone bench in the corridor outside of the classroom.

"So what'd you think? That third question tripped me up a bit."

Angelina sat down onto the bench next to Lora. "I think that it's over and that we're now on holiday and we don't have to worry about coursework until after Christmas." She smiled at her friend who shook her head in disapproving amusement. "Alicia should be done soon. She was tapping her foot like a madwoman."

"She told me she was going to wait for Eddie after the exam, so I'm guessing we're not to wait for her."

"I see." Angelina rolled her eyes, drawing out the last syllable. "If her head wasn't currently in the cloud-Eddie McDonald, she'd be appalled by herself. Traditions being quashed left and right by the male gender. The feminist in her would die. " Angelina laughed. "If either of us left her after an exam for a boy, she'd whinge for days.

"We wouldn't love her if she wasn't so fickle," Lora rose to her feet. "God, I can't believe I still have to finish packing, would you hate me if I asked you to help?"

"Obviously," Angelina followed her and the girls made their way from the corridor to the grand staircase. "I'm surprised that you weren't packed for winter holiday last week. Merlin, Lora, such a slacker, a true embarrassment to the prefects of old."

"Oh, shush. Six years with the two of you was bound to have some effect on me."

"You love us." Angelina paused outside of the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Fairy lights."

The portrait door swung open, revealing the Gryffindor common room. The circular room was deserted and the fire had burnt out in the fireplace. It looked as though the space was as ready for the holiday as the students were. They crossed behind the plush scarlet chairs to the stairway to the girls' dormitories. Erin and Marjorie, both of whom had opted out of Charms, brushed by them in the stairwell.

"So sad you won't be joining us at the Ball, Lora." Marjorie's voice never failed to sound rehearsed. If Angelina did not share a dormitory and bathroom with the girl, she'd have sworn that she practiced it in the shower. "But you try to have fun at home. We'll think of you while we're all dancing in our gowns," she said, batting her precisely made-up eyelashes.

"What a cow," Angelina hissed as they entered the sixth year dormitory. "She has to know how awful she sounds, she's not the brightest, but she's not stupid either."

Lora sighed and dropped her bag onto the floor next to her trunk. "Marjorie is about as palatable as Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts, but I don't think she means to be as grating as she is." Her bed was the closest to the door, and Angelina flung herself across it.

"You're too reasonable. Takes all the fun out of gossiping about people."

Angelina slipped her flats from her feet and tossed them across the dormitory. They landed in a pile of robes and jumpers at the foot of her four poster bed. Lora's things were stacked neatly in and around her trunk. The lack of clutter around the girl's bed was refreshing. Across the room, piles of clutter surrounded her own four poster. Neatness was an attractive-enough concept, but the effort needed to maintain organization was not. Maybe someday she'd talk Lora into helping her to organize her things.

"I can't wait to hear about the ball." Lora said, flattening out the pleats in her skirt and opening up her trunk. "I'm so excited to be able to see Michael, but you know. It'd be nice to be able to do both. You'll have to tell me everything." She continued methodically piling things into her trunk while Angelina watched. "Please tell me that you're excited?"

"Of course I'm excited." Angelina slid off the bed and tapped the wireless with her wand. A soft Christmas carol filled the room. "Granted, it'd be better if I was spending it with my two best friends," she smiled, "but knowing I'll be able to hear new Michael the Muggle tales and Alicia's Eddie stories afterward makes this so much better."

"And Fred's got to be an entertaining date." She shoved several books on top of the trunk and sighed, "I swear this trunk shrinks each term."

"Yes, I'm sure it's your trunk that's shrinking, and not the fact that you have about a thousand new books this term." Angelina leaned her weight onto the lid with Lora until the latch finally clicked shut. "And Fred is brilliant; we'll have a grand time. We already agreed to poke fun at Lee and Libby the entire time."

"Damn it." She looked up at Lora, who swore only on the very rare occasion. "I forgot to leave out Alicia's and your gifts." The blonde eyed her trunk warily.

"I'm not getting into that trunk again, Lora." Angelina said, shaking her head. "We can just do a late Christmas together, when you get back with your Michael stories."

"What about Michael the Muggle?" The door opened as Alicia skipped into the dormitory and plopped onto Lora's bed. Angelina fought the urge to roll her eyes. One of Alicia's favourite past times was joshing Lora about her boyfriend's way of life. "You will send him my love for Christmas, won't you?" she wagged her eyebrows, suppressing a giggle.

"Only if you send dearest Eddie mine." Lora did not suppress her giggle. "How was your walk? Ange and I were thinking you had gotten lost, or perished before you had finished your exam." Her teasing voice was light and sing-song-y.

The brunette blushed and pulled her legs to herself.

Angelina could tell that Alicia was dying to tell the secret she was trying to keep. She tilted her head and looked at her friend, waiting for her to give into her inherent need to share every detail of her walk with Eddie.

"The walk was, er, nice," Alicia began, resistance crumbling. "We walked. And we talked. And walked some more." Her voice trailed off and her cheeks burned a deeper shade of crimson. She paused before practically squealing, "He kissed me."

The proceeding excitement in the dormitory was nearly ear shattering. The three girls sat on Lora's bed, probing Alicia for details. They anxiously asked about the when, the where and the how. Angelina had to smirk at Alicia as she ate up all the attention, feigning reluctance for a moment or two before answering each question in gregarious detail. The huge smile plastered across her face was infective, and the girls sat talking and laughing until the evening sun had fell below the level of the dormitory window.

"Good God." Lora jumped from her bed, staring incredulously at her watch. "How in the world did it get to be this late already?" She grabbed her cloak from the peg by her bed and slipped it onto her shoulders. "I've got to catch the carriages down to Hogsmeade, or I'll miss the train." Charming her trunk and placing a kiss on both Angelina and Alicia's cheeks, she hurried towards the doorway. "You two better have enough fun for me too at the ball." She tried her best to look stern. "You know I'll be expecting fully detailed stories when I return." She scampered from the room shouting, "Have a happy Christmas!" over her shoulder.

Angelina and Alicia smiled at one another. Tomorrow evening, they would be at the ball.

~::~

The transformation in the appearance of the Great Hall between lunch time and eight o'clock, when couples began filing into the ball, was jaw-dropping. The long House tables had been removed and replaced by several small, round tables situated around the perimeter. The large Christmas trees looked at home lining the long walls of the Hall. A delicate silver frost covered all the surfaces, and a soft, enchanted snow fell from the ceiling.

Angelina sighed. She had never been one to be swept away by fairy tales, but the aura in the room was enchanting.

Fred linked his arm through her elbow and led her into the hall. "Dumbledore sure knows how to throw a party, eh Ang?" he said over the soft carols floating through the air. He plopped them down at a table near to the dance floor to wait for the commencement of the ball by the Triwizard champions. His gaze travelled up towards the greenery hanging above the table. "So do we think Flitwick strung up enough mistletoe?"

She glanced up, following Fred's eyes. Long garlands of ivy were strung around the entire hall, and bunches of mistletoe hung above each of the tables and the large dance floor. "I'm sure after having you blokes for Charms, he knew you needed all the help you can get."

"Oi, Fred." George loped over to their table from across the hall. "Have you seen Lee and Libby? Geoffrey and I promised not to intrude on the _date_ so of course we must find the happy couple and, er, not intrude." He glanced towards her, and she felt his eyes make contact with hers for a moment.

Angelina smiled. "Knowing Libby, Lee will probably need you two for backup, emotional support, reinforcements, the like."

"Oh, hey Angelina." He dropped his eyes, and seemed to study his short fingernails.

"All of the above?" Fred offered. "You could stay here with us, Georgie, let Lee sweat it out on his own for a while."

"That'd just be cruel." Angelina supressed the malicious giggle that rose in her throat as thoughts of the frog-like Ravenclaw played out in front of her eyes.

"Er, I think I ought to go and find Geoffrey. It's no good being a lone-stag at something like this."

"Well," Fred practically sang, "you and I both know you didn't have to be here stag. Why, I reckon that if you would – "

"Right. I'm going to find Geoffrey. Just cruel to leave Lee with Libby on his own," George said, shuffling away from the table.

Angelina followed his path across the hall and watched as he and Geoffrey sat down directly across from Lee, behind Libby's back. The Ravenclaw's mouth was moving a mile a minute, clearly engaged in some thrilling tale of her pure, unadulterated genius or another. Lee's expression was hard to judge from this distance, but Geoffrey and George were clearly as amused watching the couple's interactions as she was. The foursome was surely in for an entertaining evening.

"You may have thought you were joking, about Flitwick," Fred's voice cut into her observations, "but you were more right than you know. We - well some of us more than others - really do need all the help we can get."

Before she could ask him what exactly he meant, the music swelled to a hard-to-ignore volume and the four champions and their dates paraded into the hall. As if on cue, they bowed to one another and began a slow, ballroom step across the floor. She watched the couples move, admiring the girl's dresses and laughing at the varying degrees of awkwardness set out on display by the young men.

"Merlin, Harry looks like he may vomit on Parvati."

"Exhibit A of the genius that is Flitwick." Fred chuckled and stood up, offering an extended palm to Angelina. "Shall we, my lady" He waggled his eyebrows.

Smiling and shaking her head, Angelina threw her hand over Fred's. "May as well."

Several off-beat and mostly ridiculous dances later, Angelina found herself at the punch table with Fred. The later had worked up a sweat during his exaggerated ministrations on the dance floor, and was rapidly emptying the cup of punch he had poured himself. She glanced through the crowd, hoping to spot Alicia and Eddie. To her amusement, the two were practically glued to one another, still swaying in time to the music. Knowing her best friend's flare for the dramatic, she knew that the impending stories were sure to be on the calibre of the ancient epics. In all truthfulness, she reckoned that Alicia and Homer would have gotten along well had they lived in the same century. She turned her attention back to Fred, hoping he hadn't managed to drown himself in the cherry-flavoured drink, and realized that Lee had joined them at the table.

"I swear, Fred she's awful. Terrible." The boy ran his hands through his thick dreadlocks. "She's gone and convinced herself that I love her. She's trying to seduce me – tricking me into the gardens with all those damn fairies floating around, and how that's seductive I can't even begin to guess. Creepy, is what they are, with their little wings and their little voices."

Angelina suppressed a smile and turned her head from the boys, hoping that they'd continue talking and not realize she was listening. Growing up in a house the youngest of four girls, she was well versed in the art of eavesdropping.

"Lee, mate, everyone told you that there was a reason a girl as good-looking as Libby McNaulty was dateless when you asked her." She heard him clap his friend on the back. "Just think of yourself as a martyr."

He mumbled something unintelligible before continuing. "Any progress with George?" He paused, most likely waiting for a response and Angelina wondered what sort of progress George was probably not making. "Earth to Fred. Stop staring at her, you'll just make yourself look creepy. You know, you're just as bad as your twin. You know you could have asked her. Merlin knows Pucey is a right arse."

Angelina fought the urge to look and see who Fred had not asked to the ball.

"I could have maybe asked her, if George wasn't such a pansy." Fred's voice was playful. "I thought that'd he'd take my ultimatum seriously, but since he didn't and decided to clam up around her instead – I had to look out for him and keep my word."

She jumped when she felt Fred's hands on the sides of her shoulders.

"Budge over, Ang. You're hogging the punch bowl."

Turning to face Fred and Lee, she found her date's face studying her with a look of astute suspicion. Lee had commandeered a chair from a nearby table and was nervously glancing over his shoulder, as though he was hoping to remain unnoticed by his less-than-favourable date.

"Looks like we have a class-O eavesdropper here, Lee." A mischievous smile hovered on his face. "Walk with me, Ang. I need to talk with you about what we do with spies as admirable as yourself."

"I cannot believe you caught me." Angelina walked next to Fred back towards the dance floor. The redhead placed his hands on her sides, and they began a semi-normal dance step.

"Angelina, you are talking to a master at all things amusing and deceptive." He lowered her into an awkward and ill-timed dip. "Of course I knew you were listening."

"Fine, then. Who exactly did George fancy bringing to the ball?" She felt his muscles in his shoulders tense and stepped back a bit, narrowly missing another flourishing dance move. "And you. Who did you want to bring to the dance? That little strawberry blonde girl that Pucey is flaunting?"

"I cannot believe that you think I'll just tell you these things." A wide grin flickered across his face. "But if you don't know who George has been pining over these past few weeks, then he's worse off than I imagined. Speaking of George – "

Fred stopped them next to a table where Lee had been joined by George and Geoffrey. It was apparent that he was now sharing his Libby-horror stories with his new audience.

"Oi. George, I've got some business to attend to." Angelina watched Fred nod down and gesture towards his pockets, and she wondered what sort of trouble he was stowing in his dress robes. "If you'd be so kind as to look after my date?"

Not waiting for a response, Fred disappeared into the crowd.

"Merlin knows what he's up to." She turned her attention towards George, who still sat at the table. "So you want to dance or something?" She extended her hand and lead her new date onto the dance floor. His hands were much more hesitant on her waist than Fred's had been, and his grey dress robes gave his eyes an almost soft look instead of their normal mischievous expression.

"I'm glad I got a dance with you. Fred said you hadn't asked anyone to the ball, and it'd be a damn shame not to dance at all."

"Fred talked about me, then?" Despite his awkward hand placement, they had settled into a natural-feeling rhythm in time to the music. "That must have been a terrible bore." He smiled, readjusting his hands yet again. "I just didn't get around to asking anybody. I not a fan of deadlines and ultimatums, much rather just sort of wing it."

"George." Angelina felt his hands moving yet and stopped in the middle of the dance floor. She dropped her hands from his shoulders and placed them over his hands on her waist. "Right there is fine. If you keep changing your mind about where your hands should be, you'll make me laugh."

"Ticklish?" She nodded. "Well, making people laugh is what I do." She winced as he stepped down on her exposed toes. "And Merlin knows I'm better at that than I am at dancing. You know, Fred and I are going to own our own joke shop someday."

"We don't have to dance." Angelina bent over to rub her foot.

"Maybe we should do something a bit less hazardous? Check out the gardens or something?"

George's suggestion was not a totally unique one; the garden seemed a very popular place to be. A few couples walked around in glow of the live fairies hovering in the hedges. Angelina spotted an empty bench across the courtyard and gestured towards it. He shrugged and followed her, his attention turning towards the handful of snogging couples tucked in the bushes along the way. Though she didn't spot her, Angelina was willing to bet a Galleon that Alicia and Eddie were tucked away somewhere.

She sat on the bench and looked up at her second red-headed companion of the evening. George was standing about three feet away. He ran his hand though the top of his hair and kicked the toe of his shoe against the dirt.

"Well, this is awkward."

"Why is this awkward?" She cocked her head to the side and studied him. She had played on the same Quidditch team as him since she was a third year, and had never seen him look so vulnerable. A sliver of  
an idea floated into her mind that perhaps she was the girl George had wanted to ask to the ball, that Fred had perhaps threatened his twin that he'd take her to the dance if he didn't ask her, and that when he had failed to do so, Fred had subtly passed her off to George in favour of mischief.

Angelina was thankful Alicia couldn't read minds; else, she'd never live it down. After what seemed like an eternity of fanciful thinking, George finally opened his mouth to answer. "You know - all these snogging people, and the bleeding fairies, and this suspect lighting. I swear to Merlin I didn't bring you out here to snog."

Whatever she had thought he'd have said, that was not it, and she failed to cover the laugh that rolled out from deep within her chest.

George's shoulders relaxed, and the first flicker of a comfortable smile showed on his face, though he had not moved any closer to the bench. "I told you I was good at this laughing business. I completely planned that horribly executed explanation."

"So, why don't you tell me about this shop you and Fred want to have someday, and you and Geoffrey's Lee and Libby espionage?" She scooted over on the bench to make room for him next to her. The side of his thigh barely touched hers, but it was warm in the cool night air. "I'm sure there'll be plenty more for you to make me laugh about."

The corner of George's mouth pulled up into a cheeky - almost bashful, Angelina imagined - smile. "That sounds like a fantastic idea."

~::~


	5. George, October 1998

**George, October 1998**

George visits the Burrow.

_It all felt very distant – different and emptier than he was accustomed to, but at the same time it was very much the same. It was still the Burrow, and it was home._

* * *

The cool country air felt fresh in his lungs.

George wasn't sure what had prompted him decide that today was the day he ought to finally visit his family, perhaps it had been the slightly burnt oatmeal he had eaten for breakfast or the complete lack of hot water in his shower, but when the thought had flickered through his still-foggy brain earlier that morning he knew that it was time to give it a try. Pulling a relatively clean jumper and an only mildly wrinkled robe over his head, he forwent scribbling a note to his mum in case he changed his mind and Disapparated from the Flat.

Standing at the end of the long lane leading through the fields surrounding his childhood home, he wasn't entirely sure he was ready for the inevitable onslaught of family members that would certainly appear once word he had stopped by was sent. He knew that he wasn't properly prepared for the myriad of memories surely lurking in every corner, crack and crevice. Not knowing how he would respond to each as they flittered through his mind, they made him uneasy. Rooted in the deepest place inside his chest, a piece of him was terrified that seeing his face and its likeness to Fred's would only cause his family reflexive pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and forcibly exhaled. Despite these trepidations, he was fairly certain that he was glad he had finally come home.

He inhaled deeply, drawing the clean air into his lungs once more.

Several crooked stories of architecture that could only have been held together by magic stood at the end of the lane. Several thin wisps of smoke trailed up from its chimneys into the sky. A few chickens clucked around a patch of dried and dying vegetables in the yard. He couldn't remember another summer in which his mum had not managed to do any planting, and a small ball of guilt sank into his stomach. Of course she had had just as difficult a few months as he had. Perhaps he would help her clean out the small garden next season –toss a few gnomes over the hedge and plant a few tomato bushes. The door of his the shed was not latched, and appeared to have blown open in the autumn breeze. Without lighting the interior lamp, it was difficult to discern what his dad had been tinkering with lately, but several crates of gizmos and gadgets were stacked outside the doorway. There were no broomsticks leaning in the corner where they were always kept – of course only Ron and Ginny were living there and the latter had surely taken her broom with her to school, and the stoop outside the front door wasn't littered with kettles or cauldrons or wellingtons. It all felt very distant – different and emptier than he was accustomed to, but at the same time it was very much the same. It was still the Burrow, and it was home.

Before he had realized it, his feet had started moving down the rest of the path towards the house. The chickens chattered and squawked, running over and between his feet as he cut through their cluster. At the door, he raised his hand to knock, but thought better of it. This had been his home for nearly twenty years, and knocking would be an insult to those years. Dropping his hand to the knob, he found it to be unlocked as he knew it would be – there was nothing really to lock out these days.

Here he was. Something – nerves, anxiety, anticipation fluttered in his stomach as his hand turned heard the handle of the door click.

To his great surprise, the door flew outwards much faster than he had pulled it in a blur of ginger hair, rosy cheeks and colourful yarns. He was quickly enveloped into a tight embrace, and firm kisses were pressed to each of his cheeks. Warm, loving hands brushed his hair back from his face. He watched as two misty brown eyes studied it, soaking up his presence in the doorway as though he may disappear.

"Hey, Mum."

She stood there for a moment, mouth opening and closing, before tearing her eyes away from him. Somewhere between shooing him  
into the house and ushering him into the kitchen, she found the words she had been looking for. "George. What a nice surprise." Her voice trembling slightly, she pushed him down into one of the long table's chairs, "I didn't expect to see you today. That owl of yours didn't bring a letter."

"That's good considering I didn't write one." George felt a small smile play at the corner of his lips. His mother was a remarkable woman – surprised because she hadn't expected him today and not because he had been avoiding the family for a little longer than two months and was finally there.

"I wish I would have known you were visiting." She had turned away from him and was in full-out _Molly-Weasley-Mum_-_Mode_ rummaging in the cabinets. "I'd have cooked something better than steak pie. You never did care much for it, always pushed it around on your plate to make it look eaten."

A small, nostalgic chuckle escaped him. He had always loved pie – it was Fred who had never cared for it. Almost instinctually, George opened his mouth to poke fun at her, but the traditional '_honestly woman, you call yourself our mother' _line seemed inappropriate in the context, and he bit down on his lip. She was a damn good mother, the best, and he couldn't bear to crack the look of happiness and purpose on her face. He imagined that she missed having her chicks in the nest to mother over.

"But don't you worry." Her voice cut into his thoughts. "I'll fix something for dinner this evening." Turning to face him at last, she clucked her tongue against her teeth. "Skin and bones. You've not been eating right, George Weasley – in the city all by yourself."

It was a testament to her strength and her love for him to hug and kiss him, to putter around the kitchen fixing dinner, and to fuss over his body condition as though he had just been home to visit last week. Not once did she ask why he hadn't been home sooner, nor did she mention the stack of unanswered post from her that was sitting unopened in a basket on his kitchen table. She gave no sign that she was cross or hurt by his long absence, but rather seemed to bask in peaceful contentment. Several flicks of her wand and a bin of potatoes sprung to life skinning themselves over the sink. A large kettle of water rolled to a boil over the fire, and a large blob of dough she must have prepared earlier in the day began to knead itself on the countertop. With dinner satisfactorily in progress, she finally sat down across the table from him and slid a mug of steaming tea with milk and honey towards him. He took a long sip, not even caring that it burnt his mouth and throat on its way down. Even scalding him, it was a vast improvement over the bitter teas he'd been drinking.

She squeezed his hand, a warm smile painted on her aged face, before summoning several scraps of parchment and a quill. "Now, just let me owl the others. They'll all want to know you're here."

~::~

Those who weren't in Romania or at Hogwarts, had certainly wanted to know he was there and had begun Apparating outside the kitchen door shortly after the letters were sent, though George suspected that the promise of a home-cooked meal had also been a primary motivating factor. Only Percy, who had said he'd be late, was still unaccounted for as the dishes were scraped clean of second helpings and dessert. Stuffed to the brim with steak pie and bangers 'n mash and the custard tarts Fleur had brought – his mum had taken the dessert from her, muttering something under her breath about her daughter-in-law finally learning to cook like a Brit – he stretched, hoping to open an empty spot in his stomach for his dinner to settle into. Glancing around the table, he couldn't remember the last time there had been that much elbow room between the chairs, but in his food induced stupor he gladly took advantage of the space. His dad and mum, when she was actually sitting and not fussing over the preparations, occupied the ends of the table. Bill and Fleur sat across the table from him, Harry and Ron. Ginny and Hermione had written from school saying they wished they could have been home. The latter was miraculously still dating Ron, who at the moment was wiping custard from his nose with his sleeve. George suppressed his chuckle so as not to disrupt digestion. He hadn't eaten this much food in a long time and was sorely out of practice.

"There's a bit more of the tart here, George?" His mum stood with the custard tarts and a serving spatula. Shaking his head no, she offered it around the table. Ron finally sacrificed himself and held up his plate for it. She turned away from the table, empty serving dish in hand, and began cleaning up the sink. George watched as his dad rose from the table and joined her.

"Hello all." The pompous voice of Percy was followed by the sound of the door latching. "Sorry I'm late. Dinner smells amazing." Taking off his cloak and scarf, he dropped a quick kiss to each of his mother's cheeks before he walked out of the kitchen towards the table.

"So nice of you to finally join us, Perce." Ron said, clapping the older redheaded man on the back.

"Yes, yes. I was delayed at work." He grabbed a plate and began to shovel the room temperature dinner into his mouth, avoiding the looks of his brothers.

"That's it?" George asked. "No '_I was delayed triple checking the crossed status of every T in the new foreign relations memorandum'_ or '_I was busy helping Kingsley select the appropriate earring for the upcoming Minister's Summit_?' You've grown so modest in your old age."

There was a pause, almost as if his comments were unexpected, before a ripple of laughter passed over the table.

Not finding George's comments quite as humorous as the others, Percy cleared his throat. "Well, I was er, I was – it's complicated and confidential and –"

Ron snorted loudly into his extra helping of tart.

"You see Georgie, we – " Bill paused and amended his statement at a rather stern look from his wife, "Harry, Ron and myself – not Fleur, we have this theory that Perce is having a sordid affair with this new clerk in the Minister's office."

"This is the fourth time he's been late for something." Harry piped up over the sound of protest across the table. "And sauntered in wearing trousers and a blazer instead of his Ministry robes – "

"Smiling like a little kid who's just gotten their first broomstick and smelling like women's perfume," Bill continued. "We've got no real proof, after all Percy could just prefer women's perfume to men's cologne, but it's a working theory. "

Merlin, George had missed this. Laughter rolled out of his chest, and his over-stuffed stomach cramped in objection. "So what's this clerk like, Percy?" He asked, clutching at his stomach and wagging his eyebrows suggestively.

"Bloody right you've no proof." Percy blatantly ignored George's question. His indignation raised the octave of his voice as he spoke. "Besides, the new clerk is not my type. She's erm, she's – "

"Fit."

It was George who snorted this time, and was seized by a coughing fit as the water he'd been sipping slid into is respiratory tract.

"She's got these legs and these – " Ron trailed off, most likely thinking about what Hermione would say if he finished his thought. "But she's scary brilliant. Confident and motivated and – "

"She's a regular old femme fatale," Bill saved his youngest brother's description from nose-diving into its own fiery implosion. He ducked a playful swat from Fleur. "Moral of the story – we think she's adopted young Percy as her plaything."

Percy had apparently adopted the strategy of sudden onset deafness, and was concentrating much too hard on his food. A deep scarlet blush had crept over the tips of his ears and cheeks, and his leg bounced beneath the table to an unnaturally quick rhythm.

"Well good for you, Percy."

"I am the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic." Percy's patience had apparently been spent. "I am not some clerk from our office's plaything."

"But you didn't deny sleeping with her."

Ron, being Ron, had taken the conversation a step too far. Percy set his fork down with authority and rose from the table, disappearing into the kitchen with his plate. George's abdomen hurt from laughing and his face felt stiff from smiling. Even though they weren't all there, and could never all be together again, he felt perfectly content sitting at the table with his brothers and sister-in-law. He had missed this.

"Merlin it's good to be home."

~::~

The rest of the evening passed far less scandalously.

Seated comfortably around the sitting room, they listened to the evening's broadcast on the wireless – George still had to hide his amusement whenever he heard Lee'sstory and wondered how much help the leggy Indira had been for this report. There was something relaxing and wonderful about the headlining story only being an elderly wizard who had unknowingly been selling Bowtruckles to Muggles, and if he exhaled and shut his eyes, he could almost convince himself that the war had never happened and life had always been this comfortable – that Fred would be bounding down the stairs to join them at any moment. When his eyes opened and he ran a hand through his hair, the masquerade ended. His ear was still missing, and Bill's face was still disfigured. If Fred was there with them, he would not be bounding down the stairs. He knew this, but sitting there with his family made it manageable.

Towards the tail end of the program, they slipped into a casual game of catch-up. His mum, turned out, had begun knitting the Christmas jumpers early this year. Bill and Fleur had been battling rainstorms and had decided while dancing around buckets collecting rain water that their roof was in need of replacing. Percy had been working – keeping tabs on the political reformation and judicial proceedings for the Minister's office – and not fraternizing with any of the clerks. Ron had been helping with the reconstruction efforts at the school, and Harry had been dodging the public eye. It seemed as though they each avoided asking George what he'd been doing, for which he was grateful. It was difficult to make _'nothing'_ sound particularly productive or exciting when their lives had finally begun to creep forward. It was only when his mum patted his dad on the knee and squeezed his hand that George realized that the oldest Weasley man hadn't offered anything to the conversation either.

His dad's face and hair were thinner than they used to be, and his mouth was drawn into weary smile. Worry creases spanned his forehead and accented the corners of his eyes, which lacked their usual lively gleam. It was a face George had come to know well looking into the mirror as he brushed his teeth each morning, and a reason why people had continued to ask him if he was alright occurred to him. What else was there to say?

"Dad," Arthur's head snapped up from his chest at George's voice, "How about you show me what you've been working with in the shed. I saw some crates on the way in, but couldn't tell what was in them."

The older man seemed to appreciate the suggestion, and only moments later George found himself inside the cluttered shed.

The single lamp hanging from the centre of the ceiling cast a dim glow throughout the work space. The bench top was covered in storage bins full of batteries and wires, nuts and bolts, and various other gizmos and gadgets. Crates containing records, cassettes, video tapes and CDs were lined and stacked against each wall, making walking impossible and standing comfortably nearly so. A sad smile washed over George. He and Fred had spent a good bit of their early childhood summers – when not playing pickup games of Quidditch – in this shed secretly playing with their dad's projects and formulating ones of their own. Now, thinking about it, they probably owed their need to create to those summer days their dad never knew about. Glancing around now, it all looked smaller and far less grand than George had remembered it.

"This," his dad's voice sounded worn and tired, "is one of the most remarkable Muggle contraptions I've ever seen." He held a small rectangular object in his hands. "You see, this bit that lights up when you push the button? It rotates whenever the device does as if it knows which way is up. Brilliant." Pressing the button to demonstrate, his face looked a shade brighter. "Muggles call it an Eye Pod. I've still not figured out what its function is, but I think it's for communication. Sometimes, words appear on the screen. Why just yesterday, I was tinkering with it and some man named John Lennon had a message about imagination on the screen – just tiny little letters."

"Sounds brilliant, Dad." George said, forcing a smile onto his face. His mind was whirring with a decision whether to ask the older man how he was doing – how his mum was doing, but before he had come to a decision, the words were out. "So, how've you and Mum been doing?"

A silence fell over the shed.

"Oh, some days are better than others." He answered at last. "It's just hard. Days that are good for Mol – your mum are bad for me, and days that are good for me are hard for her. But we're getting by in this old house. It's times like these that are the best, having a full table and sitting room – voices in the house." A genuine smile flickered in his eyes. "We're so glad you stopped by, George."

George felt a small bubble of tears rise up in his throat and blinked his eyes rapidly.

"I am too, Dad, I am too."

The arms that enveloped him into a firm hug were not worn or tired, and seemed to transfer a vitality he had been lacking into him. When at last the older red head pulled away, he coughed and removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes.

"So, have you thought any about what you're doing with the shop?"

No. He, with the occasional help of Angelina, had sorted through countless boxes over the past few weeks, but all of his thoughts had been in the form of memories and not the future.

"Not really, I should decide something sometime soon." George ran a hand through the front of his hair, stalling for time before he continued. "Verity has written me a dozen times at least wanting to know. I just don't know. Angelina and I have sorted through some of the boxes from the shop, but I don't want to rush the decision. I don't have to – I have enough galleons saved up from what we made over the past few years; I don't have to worry about money."

"Angelina?"

"That's a bloody poor way to treat your investment." The horn-rimmed face of Percy Weasley appeared in the doorway. "Sorry if this was a private chat, but Mum's trying to pawn more tea off on everyone and sent me to fetch you two."

"Ah." Their dad said with a hint of laughter in his voice. "We better go back inside, wouldn't want to let her get too worked up." He set the Muggle Eye Pod down on the bench top and brushed by his two sons.

George stepped to follow him, but found that Percy had stepped between him and the door.

"I mean it, George." Percy said in an authoritative tone that, in years past would have garnered snide comments and teasing from the twin, but now commanded his attention. "I know it's hard – he wasn't my twin – but I lost my brother too. Sitting on that money Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes made, that you and Fred earned, it's just not right. You should invest it in the company or something more productive that supporting your indecisiveness."

"You done, Perce?"

His brother exhaled, effectively deflating his puffed out chest and smiled. "I think so." He clapped his arm around George's shoulders. "Should we go inside before mum has a Hippogriff?"

~::~

Later that night as he lay in his bed, Percy's words ran through his head. The pompous redhead had said innumerable irrelevant and stupid things in his lifetime, but one thing he had said George knew was true. It wasn't right to keep spending his and Fred's money while he avoided thinking about what to do. He still wasn't sure what he wanted to do, but he needed to make a decision no matter what it was.

Rolling over, he grabbed a scrap of parchment and quill from his bedside table and penned a quick note. Maybe a meeting with Verity would help him to clear his head. He whistled to Oddie and tied the letter to the owl's leg. As the bird flew out his window into the night, a feeling of ease washed over him.

Tomorrow would be a good day.


	6. Angelina, February 1995

**Angelina, February 1995**

Angelina spends the day in Hogsmeade.

_Only after she thought this did she realize that George still had a hold of her hand, and that his broad palm was just as warm as his fingertips had been._

* * *

Large white snowflakes floated down from the low skyline and gathered in puddles of discoloured slush along the pathway. The small population that did not make it to the ground clung to the hair and cloaks of the line of students making their way towards the village of Hogsmeade. Despite the less-than-favourable weather, the residing aura hanging over the procession was positive. A day away from the corridors and the eyes of their professors was a welcomed reprieve for all.

Angelina walked between Lora and Alicia on the path, both of whom had drawn their cloaks tightly around themselves. She ran her hand over her hair, immediately wishing she hadn't as melted snowflakes ran down onto her scalp. "I wish I wouldn't have laughed at those snow caps that Valerie was knitting over the holidays, maybe she'd have sent me one from home for Christmas."

"No, Angelina. Those caps were hideous. Even wet hair is better than wearing one of those. Your sister's sense of style leaves a lot to be desired. Trust me." Alicia picked up her pace and pulled ahead of her friends. "Let's walk a little quicker," she grumbled, lifting her feet from the ground and shaking the slush from them. "My boots are practically soaked the entire way through."

"Well, if you'd have paid attention when I was – "

"Lora, I'm barely mastering the charms we're required to learn," Alicia shouted back over her shoulder, still marching ahead as though determined she could outrun the slush on the ground. "Only you would think that I have the time to learn a Waterproofing Charm too."

Angelina and Lora shook their heads. Exchanging amused glances with one another, they were glad that the third girl was walking ahead of them and did not see. Ever since they had woken up that morning, Alicia had been slightly less than pleasant and hadn't yet been at a loss for something to whinge about. First it had been the amount of sunlight streaming in the tower window, then the lack of marmalade at the breakfast table, and now her boots were the latest source of irritation. Angelina, knowing all too well that the causative agent would surface eventually, purposefully avoided asking her what was bothering her. Nearly six years of friendship had taught her that it was always best to let irritated-Alicia to run her course and burn herself out.

"Maybe you can get Michael the Muggle to send that stuff in the can that you were talking about," Alicia continued, still shouting back at them about her boots, no doubt. "Those cans of smelly ointment that the Muggles use on their shoes."

"It may be a little late for that, Alicia," Angelina laughed as the girls passed under the stone archway that demarcated the entrance to the wizarding village. The sound of water squelching beneath the brunette's every step man made it difficult to stop laughing long enough to speak. "I think your boots may be a little wet already."

"Ha-ha." Alicia rolled her eyes. "You don't say."

"What's gotten you in such a mood today?" Lora, the bleeding-heart was never content to allow anyone to brood with their problems, much less one of her best friends. She sped up to Alicia's side, nudging her with her elbow.

"You mean besides the ice cold water squishing in my socks?"

A crowd of over-zealous third years brushed by the group of sixth-year girls – their excitement was palpable. Each one was surely anxious to bask in their newfound independence and spend the coins jingling in their pockets. Angelina couldn't help but smile. On her first trip to Hogsmeade, she had watched as George and Fred won a what-was-then sizable prize from a bet that they wouldn't touch the fence surrounding the Shrieking Shack before leaving to accompany her best friends to Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks. It was there that Alicia had indulged her sweet tooth and eaten so many sweets that she was ill the rest of the day, and Muggle-born Lora had tried her first mug of warm butterbeer. Even though that day was only three years ago, it felt like another lifetime.

"So, I know that I needed to stop and get a new quill – "

" – Because you write Michael the Muggle so often." Alicia nudged the blonde. No matter how horrid her mood was, anything involving Michael the Muggle was usually enough to coax a smile, even if only brief, from her. She loved to tease Lora, and fondly listed it amongst her hobbies.

"From Scrivenshaft's," Lora continued, ignoring Alicia's comment, "but where else do we have to go today?"

"With you moping around like you are, I'm surprised you had it in you to tease Lora." Angelina said despite Alicia's over-exaggerated eye roll, before turning towards Lora. "That's as good a place as any to start the day."

Much to Alicia's dismay, Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop was, of course, on the other side of Hogsmeade. Lora rationalized – as she was prone to do – to try to abate Alicia's continued grumbling, that once they made it to the quill shop, they could stop in the other shops they wanted to visit on their way back to the Three Broomsticks so as not to have to walk through as much slush. The brunette never voiced her approval, but followed Lora and Angelina with only mild reluctance. The shop was a small, square room, filled with numerous bins containing quills of varying intricacies. The lighting was dim, and a lingering smell of parchment and cedar hung in the air. It was, Angelina knew, the sort of shop in which Lora could spend hours browsing, but to her the shop was nothing more than a practice in not sneezing despite the tickling in her nose.

"I don't think I can stand spending any more time with Eddie," Alicia suddenly blurted out as they browsed the bins of feathered quills. "He's always there, always. With his stupid white smile and that weird mole on his neck. And he's always saying _-Licia this _and _-Licia that_, and I swear to Merlin if he kisses me before the first lesson one more time, I will dump my coffee on him and not even pretend it was an accident." She tossed the quill she was holding back into the pile. "He's so eager and clingy. I don't know. Sometimes I just don't want to be kissed in the middle of the corridor in front of everybody."

"Maybe Eddie isn't as great as you thought he'd be?" Angelina suppressed her desire to sing _I told you _so, and gloat about being right in favour of her best friend's current emotional state. Alicia's tendency to fixate on a boy before knowing anything about him was expected, and was one of the things Angelina adored about her. "Perhaps it is time to move on?" She said in a careful, sympathetic tone.

"Or maybe Eddie really cares about you and doesn't realize how suffocating he's being?" Lora chimed up from her intense concentration on a grey eagle-featherquill. "Have you ever told him that certain things he does irritate you?"

Alicia muttered something unintelligible and picked up a plush, venom-green quill from the bin. "Holy hippogriff. Six Galleons for this?" Of course, being the only one of the group with any significant long-term relationship experience, the other two were prone to ignore Lora's advice. She tossed the ridiculously coloured and priced quill back into the pile. "I don't know, I just sort of want to ignore it and make it, and him, go away."

"When Michael and I first started dating – "

"Lora, darling, you and Michael the Muggle have been dating since before Hogwarts was founded." Alicia grinned momentarily, relishing her opportunity to poke fun at the couple's extensive history. "You were probably making eyes at one another before you were born. While your mums trimmed the backyard gardens from adjacent sides of the hedge or something."

The blonde completely ignored her comments and continued on speaking as if the interruption had never occurred. "We always were sure to talk about little things that irritated us, you know, so they didn't turn into big things. And just so you know," having finished giving her advice, she pierced her lips together defensively, "we met in primary school. We were never neighbours and our mums do not garden together."

"Moral is, Alicia," Angelina said, feeling the need to cut into the conversation before Lora's cheeks got any redder, "unless you think Eddie is really worth working for, if you're not happy, it's probably not worth it."

"And what about Sir George?" Lora asked in a fake sing-song voice, apparently flustered about Michael the Muggle, a bit bitter that her counselling was going ignored, and anxious to prod somebody else. "Is he worth working for?"

Angelina felt her eyebrows jump up into her hairline. "George? George Weasley, George?"

"No, you nitwit, the other George. You know red hair, has a twin, plays Quidditch with us. The one you were _talking_ to in the garden for so long after the ball ended that Adrian Pucey , that prefect from Slytherin, had to kick you back to the tower and deduct points." Alicia said, jumping on the chance to tease Angelina that Lora had presented to her. The change of topic away from her own boy-troubles seemed to do Alicia some good, if the lilt in her voice and the annoying all-knowing grin on her face were any indication.

"I've told you this already – every time George even so much as says hello to me and you ask _again_ – we just talked out in the garden. Fred disappeared from the ball with that fifth year, so he left me with George, is all. We've hardly talked since the ball, and when we have, it's been about coursework or Quidditch or the Triwizard Tournament." She let out an exasperated sigh. "Besides, we're just friends."

The idea that had occurred to her at the ball - that George had wanted to ask her to the ball, and perhaps fancied her - had all but dissipated over the past six weeks, and was perpetuated only by the occasional, teasing questions like this one from Alicia and Lora. Angelina considered herself to be a rational young woman, not somebody who jumped to believing things without proof, of which she had none. The conception of the idea was the fault of the atmosphere of the ball – the dancing, the decorations, the lighting. It was anything but rational.

Both girls were gazing at her with scepticism plastered across their faces.

"Angelina, Alicia." The familiar voice of Katie Bell shouted in the shop's open door from the street, ending the awkward staring contest that was unfurling within the shop. "Oh, hey Lora, didn't see you there. I'm on my way to the Three Broomsticks now, if you want to join."

"Gladly." Angelina trotted out from the shop, aggravation at her friends' insistence and appreciation from her fellow Chaser filling her chest. "I feel like I haven't seen you in ages, Katie."

"Life with no Quidditch is sad," Katie said as Alicia and Lora joined them. "O.W.L.s are devouring all my time. I'm hardly ever in the common room anymore. I miss seeing you girls."

"You can't study all the time." Angelina rolled her eyes. "You have to take time to do other things, even if it means you have to work a lot harder afterwards." She had hated every moment of her O.W.L.s and was dreading her N.E.W.T.S. "We should all go out and fly sometime. Toss the Quaffle around, relax."

"Oh, definitely. I live to throw Quaffles around. Quidditch or bust."

Lora's slightly unexpected tongue-in-cheek comment sent all four girls reeling into fits of giggles that carried them the length of the long lane to the pub. The interior of the Three Broomsticks was warm and crowded. Angelina could feel the outside weather melt away from her cheeks. Her hair was soaked from the large flakes that had stuck to it during the walk. She hoped that it didn't manage to dry while they were there – else she'd have a ball of frizz on her head where her hair once was.

Surprisingly, four stools had opened up at the bar. The girls quickly commandeered them before some lurking group of younger students managed to snag them.

Alicia fiddled with the edge of her napkin. "Listen," she finally said, "if Eddie shows up here, I'm not completely sure what I'm –"

"-Licia."

Angelina had to disguise a rather violent snort as a cough as Alicia's qualm was cut short by the arrival of Eddie and his annoying pet name for her friend.

"I'm sorry if you thought I forgot that we were meeting for lunch. I had Cedric save seats for us at a table over there," he said, gesturing towards the dining room.

"Oh, I knew you'd show up." For all the moping and whinging she had done today on the Hufflepuff's behalf, Alicia's voice sounded bright and receptive. She flung her arms around his neck and planted a quick kiss on his cheek.

"Have fun, _-Licia_," Angelina called at her friend's retreating back. "You'll have to finish whatever it was you were telling us sometime."

"You're awful, you know?" Lora shook her head at Angelina, glancing down at the menu.

Angelina considered her lunch options and glanced around the groups of people gathered around the tables. Lee and the twins were seated near the door. He waved at her before leaning in to tell his red-headed companions something. Whatever he had said to them caused Fred to grin like the Muggle Cheshire Cat character that her dad had read to her when she and her sisters were young. George seemed largely unaffected. She watched him run his hand through the front of his hair several times before pushing back his chair and standing. He approached the bar, his cheeks flushed from either the cold outside or the heat inside the pub. The combination of the red of his cheeks, red hair and his orange-is coloured jumper was quite the spectacle, and Angelina let a small giggle escape her lips. She deliberated if he knew or even cared how badly his colour palette clashed.

Watching him from not even two yards away, she wondered if he'd seen her and didn't feel obliged to say hello, or if he'd simply not seen her. He smiled and nodded at Rosmerta as he passed her several coins and received a tray with four Butterbeers on it. He turned away and she watched his eyes as they found Fred's across the room. The latter twin nodded and shook his head. Whatever they had communicated to each other across the room was lost on her, but George turned back towards the bar.

Angelina turned her attention back towards Katie and Lora. She couldn't for the life of her figure out how they had gotten onto the topic of Shrinking Solutions so quickly, and so she gestured to Madam Rosmerta. Ordering a Butterbeer instead of embarking in the thrilling academic affair happening next to her seemed to be a smart decision.

"Hey, Angelina." George's voice startled her, and she spun around on the stool. He stood with a frothy mug in his outstretched hand. "You can have this one, if you'd like. I have an extra here on this tray, and I'd hate it to go to waste."

"Thanks?" Angelina hesitated in taking the mug. Years of contact with the twins had taught her to second guess anything that they tried to convince somebody to consume.

"Oh, go on." George pushed the ceramic cup towards her. His fingertips were warm where they brushed her hand. "I've haven't touched it, straight from Madam Rosmerta herself." He slid onto the stool that Alicia had vacated and took a gulp from his own mug. Fred and Lee's butterbeers sat on the tray, seemingly forgotten. "So what've you been up to all day?"

"Not much, honestly. Lora found a new quill, we poked fun at Alicia and Eddie. Typical day, really." She glanced to her side to see if Lora or Katie were going to jump into the conversation, but the two girls had suddenly – and no doubt conveniently – relocated to Cedric and Eddie's table with Alicia. Angelina shook her head – her friends thought they were so clever – before she continued speaking. "Alicia's boots were leaking, and she was grumbling and moody, so we didn't really get to spend a lot of time walking between shops."

"Have you eaten yet?" He picked up the menu off of the bar. His eyes stared straight ahead and didn't appear to focus on the words. "If not, we should get something to eat, and then we should go hit up the shops. I can't promise you that my boots won't leak, but I can swear I won't grumble." He smiled at her.

"What about Fred and Lee?"

"We're good, really." She was surprised to find Lee standing on her other side. He grabbed the abandoned tray of butterbeers from the bar much too quickly, nearly spilling one of the mugs. "You kids have fun."

She shook her head in exasperated amusement and said, "And no, I haven't eaten yet."

For some reason, the fact that she was sitting alone with George Weasley in the middle of The Three Broomsticks suddenly seemed glaringly obvious, as though neon signs and sirens were alerting the entire pub to the fact. She felt her face flush and began to fiddle with a paper napkin from the bar. Angelina dreaded having to listen to Alicia and Lora's thoughts on this subject later. They always thought they knew what Angelina was thinking, sometimes more so than she did herself.

"Brilliant."

As they ordered two sandwiches, the anxious feeling in Angelina's stomach seemed to abide, and lunch passed in a moderately comfortable silence. Angelina was grateful that George hadn't insisted on making small talk during the meal. If she had to pick one thing that annoyed her about people, it was feeling the need to talk while eating. When they had finished, George grabbed Angelina's tab from her plate and laid a few coins on the bar.

"Oh. Thank you." Angelina stood up and slipped her cloak back over her shoulders. The thick fabric was still wet from the snow earlier in the day. "I guess I'll owe you some sweets from Honeydukes or something."

George shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "It was no problem, but Honeydukes sounds fantastic. Let's start there?"

The slush that had coated the ground before the girls had entered The Three Broomsticks had been covered by a thin layer of snow. Angelina smiled, hoping Alicia would be happier whenever she walked outside. The wind was cold and she slipped her hands into the pocket of her coat. The memory of how warm George's fingertips had been when he handed her the butterbeer flitted into her mind. She quickly brushed it away. The idea that had formulated at the ball stirred dangerously around the back of her mind.

"I want to remember to get some sweets for Ginny." George's words pulled her from the thoughts she was trying not to think. "She was complaining the other day about not being old enough to visit Hogsmeade. And how her dormitory mate always get treats from her sister. Ginny is so subtle sometimes." He chuckled.

"You're such a good brother." Angelina pulled her hands out from her pockets and lightly shoved his shoulder. George ginned before he stumbling a few steps and rebounding on her.

"Woah, woah. Sorry." His brown eyes lit up with a mischievous glint. "Some jerk pushed me back there, I couldn't help myself."

"How rude of them." Angelina willed herself to keep the laughter out of her voice.

"Yes, very." He nudged her shoulder with his own. "Don't worry, I'll keep my eye out for the culprit."

She could no longer hold back the giggle that demanded to be let out. "Well, thank Merlin for that."

George stopped in his tracks and turned towards her. His mouth was pulled into a straight line, and no hint of laughter was visible in his eyes. "Miss, this is no laughing matter."

Angelina turned to face him. She, too, attempted to hold a straight face, but she could feel that her eyebrows were raised and that the corners of her mouth were curled upwards. She bit her bottom lip, trying to restrain herself. His eyes locked onto hers and laughter danced from them down towards his smile. Finally, after what felt like ages, he broke into a deep laughter from his chest. It was a contagious laugh, and Angelina soon found herself laughing as well.

"Well, look who isn't breaking curfew?"

Angelina had to wipe the tears that had gathered in her eyes. Adrian Pucey and a younger Slytherin girl she did not recognize stood in front of them on the path. "Astute observation, Pucey, considering it's the middle of the day and all." She rolled her eyes and turned towards George and grabbed his wrist. "Come on, let's go get Ginny some sweets, before I say something I shouldn't to this _Prefect_."

Angelina pulled George along and brushed by the two Slytherins.

"Please promise me you'll hit him with a Bludger first chance you get next term?" Angelina dropped George's wrist and glanced back at him. "He's such an arse."

"To be fair, we were out far past curfew last time we ran into him," George said. "But why wait until next year to hit him with something?" He turned and watched Pucey's back moving away from them on the path. "One thing to always remember, never pass up an opportunity as good as this."

Angelina watched as George picked up a handful of snow, moulded it into a ball, and tossed it up into the air. Pulling his wand from his pocket, he muttered a charm under his breath. The snowball zoomed down the path and exploded between the Slytherin prefect's shoulder blades.

She couldn't help but laugh at the boy's reaction to the charmed snowball. He leapt straight up into the air, reaching behind his shoulders trying to figure out what had hit him.

"Come on and run." George grabbed her hand. "Before his thick skull can process enough to know it was us."

The two ran the entire way to Honeydukes. When they finally entered the shop, they were both panting and out of breath. Angelina's lungs burnt from the cold air that filled them. As she leant forward to help her breathing normalize, she thought about how enjoyable her afternoon had been. Only after she thought this did she realize that George still had a hold of her hand, and that his broad palm was just as warm as his fingertips had been.

~::~


	7. George, December 1998

**George, December 1998**

George opens the doors for WWW's Grand Re-Opening.

_Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had started within a family, and would grow as a family. _

* * *

Currents of electricity prickled beneath his skin, and he could feel his heart pump in his throat. George suddenly wished that he would have listened to the advice in his mum's letter and eaten a proper breakfast instead of rearranging the chartreuse display of _Two-Ton Tongue Toffees (For Twice the Tonguefoolery)_ for the umpteenth time. Of course, showmanship was integral to the success of any undertaking, but he, Verity and Ron had been working around the clock for the past month in preparation for the big day. Each shelf, bin and display case was stocked with enough brightly-wrapped sweets, intricate potion phials and objects ranging in appearance from the ostentatious to the mundane to bring the finely tuned halls of Hogwarts to a screeching halt. He knew that the interior of the shop could not be more ready, but his hands itched for something to do. Beneath all of the nerves and excitement, a small part of him worried that waiting in the stillness, he would lose his gumption and it all would have been for naught.

"Oi. What time is it?" Verity's voice carried over from the violently pink _Wonder Witch_ section. "These miniature Pygmy Puffs are all squirming around and fussing – I think all this bloody pink is hurting their retinas too."

The gold-coloured pocket watch that George had received when he had come of age nearly four years ago sat on the front counter next to the old till. Its face read twenty-seven past four. Only three minutes, not even two hundred ticks of the second hand remained until he would flip the sign on the front door and unlock it. He sighed. These three minutes were bound to be three of the longest minutes in the history of time. Patience was not a virtue he'd been born with, especially in the face of such heavy anticipation and the flickering possibility of failure, though he knew that once the throngs of customers entered the shop, all would be well and there would be no turning back.

"We've still got a few minutes." George said. Amused by his assistant's obvious displeasure with her assignment for the grand re-opening, he rolled his eyes. She'd never notice it from all the way across the shop. "And Pygmies don't see in colour, they probably just want some attention."

He swore he heard her mutter _lucky_, and shook his head before rechecking his watch.

It was still only twenty-seven minutes past four. Restless from the adrenaline still flooding his system, George pulled the blinds away from the window and glanced outside. A large crowd of young witches and wizards had gathered in an impatient clump. Their chatter was audible through the store front, and their excitement was tangible. Several older witches and wizards – parents most likely – were trying their hardest to look less-than-thrilled about standing in the cold waiting for a joke shop to open. Despite their efforts towards reluctance, it was clear that they had pockets full of coins ready to spend on little Johnny or Susie's more mischievous side. It had been Ron's idea to schedule the grand re-opening to coincide with the arrival of the Hogwarts Express at King's Cross with all of the students traveling home for the holidays. Judging from the number of people on the wintry street waiting for the doors to unlock, it was a fantastic plan.

He smiled. The youngest Weasley brother had been such an asset over the past few weeks. He had popped by each day after his work at the school was complete in order to help transport the boxes that George and Angelina had sorted into the shop, and now that Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was in working order, he had offered his time to work a few shifts during the week. George owed his younger brother a lot, but he owed Percy more. It had been the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic's frank encouragement that pushed George to actually consider reopening the shop and his offhand suggestion to approach Ron for help that had made all the preparations possible. George had sent a gift very much in the style of his and Fred's Percy-pranks of old, but he still needed to properly thank the mostly humourless redhead. Somehow, George wasn't sure that the basket of his finest _Wonder Witch _products he had sent in the post with an anonymous, rather suggestive note about tardiness and office clerks would be interpreted as gratitude. He chuckled at the mental image of his straitlaced brother opening the package to see the bright-red _Love Me Lusty Lip Gloss (Infused with Long-Acting Love Potion No. 5 to Make Every Kiss Memorable ) _on the top of the basket. Thinking about it, he hoped his gift wouldn't put a damper the newfound appreciation they had for one another.

Turning away from the window, he was surprised to see Verity standing in front of the counter with her arms crossed in front of her chest. The blonde's face was pulled into a forced scowl, but her dark eyes flickered with an amused smile.

"I saw you roll your eyes at me." She leaned against the counter, the smile from her eyes now playing at her lips. "But, I'll have you know that forcing me to work over in the pink prison is an exploitation of my gender role as a woman, and I won't stand for it. Make Ron work the section and I'll man the pyrotechnics. Besides, I have seniority over him."

George couldn't hold it back, and laughed.

"This isn't funny, Mr Weasley."

"Verity, can you imagine Ron working the _Wonder Witch _line?"

"Hey." Ron's voice piped up from behind a stack of wooden crates labelled with animated images of shimmering, crimson dragons chasing small toads clad in pink cardigans and bows. "You two do know I can hear you?"

"Ron would do a " – her voice cracked, but she did an admirable job of forcing through her own, obvious lie – "spiffing job selling _Patented Daydream Charms _and _Ten-Second Pimple Vanishers_ to all the chipper, love-struck teenaged witches in London."

"George, I – " Ron had appeared at the counter as well, his magenta robe clashing wonderfully with his bright red hair.

"Ron," George held his index finger up towards his brother, but maintained eye contact with his suddenly feministic employee. He cocked an eyebrow and leaned towards her. "Verity," he said slowly, "this little protest of yours wouldn't have anything to do with you not wanting to deal with the client base for the _Wonder Witch _line, would it?"

The blonde scrunched her eyes together and stared, reluctantly beaten, back at George. "Who doesn't love quirky, hormonal teenagers?" She gave an exaggerated smile and turned her back on him.

"That's the spirit."

"George," Ron said for a second time. "It's half-past four. Should you maybe open the door?"

George exhaled. A loud buzzing filled his head and he glanced down at the pocket watch. It was time. Rolling his wand between his fingers, he pulled it out from his pocket and flicked it at the entrance to the shop. The sign on hanging in the glass flipped from closed to open, and the dead bolt slid from its place. The doors swung open and the first customers since the he and Fred had been forced to close the shop down entered the colourful space. With a second flick of his wand, several dozen multi-coloured bubbles filled the air above the heads of the customers and the tops of the shelves. The amorphous figures floated around the room, changing colours as they bounced off of the walls and one another. It was a small addition to the overall atmosphere of the shop, but it was the first product George had created on his own. If all went well during this trial run, _Indestructible Bubbles_ would be the first item put to market.

A large smile spread across George's face. He had done it. Number 93 Diagon Alley was once again open for business.

~::~

The number of people that had flitted into the shop during the first hour of business was mindboggling. The sound of laughter and squeals of excitement twinkled through the space more appropriate than any other ambiance music could. George found his hands constantly exchanging coins from the till with customers adorned in wide smiles and cheeky grins. Some shopkeepers may have thought it mundane to work the till, and foolish to trust employees to man the purchasing floor, but George found the position of cashier to be rather intimate. It was important to him to greet his customers and introduce himself, to see what they were purchasing and comment on the product, and to personally thank each one for their support. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had started within a family, and would grow as a family.

Ron's voice carried snippets of his favourite anecdote across the busy shop. "And you should have seen the toad's face – fireworks everywhere. It took the professors weeks to finally extinguish them all. These ones here are bloody brilliant"

George imagined his brother standing in the middle of a group of third- and fourth-year boys, regaling his tale to the awed audience like an ancient epic. Ron may not have shared the same passion for pranks and inventions as Fred had, but he was an asset to the store. At least three customers had asked him, while at the till, if the man in the pyrotechnics section was _the _Ronald Weasley. If he knew, George feared that his already-large head may not fit out of the shop door and he would be forced to stay in his flat with him.

George chuckled. Perhaps someday he would share this information with his younger brother, but for now, he couldn't interrupt his dramatic narration. The sound of small footsteps drew his attention back to the counter. Not seeing anyone, he peered over its edge.

"Hey mister. Do heads really disappear? Where do they go?" A floating, feathered cap and a small headless body clutching several more _Headless Hats_ to his chest stood in front of the counter. His pockets were loaded with what appeared to be a considerable supply of _Puking Pastilles_, and a pile of rubber chickens and fake wands lay at his feet.

George smiled. He liked this headless-kid.

"Does your head really disappear?" George asked, a look of well-practiced disbelief on his face. "Shall I get you a mirror, or would you prefer I send a search party for your missing head?"

The small child paused, as though contemplating his options, as several obnoxiously-coloured bowlers slipped from his grasp. "You really got a mirror back there?"

Unable to contain his smile, George held up a mirror in front of the boy.

"Galloping Godric!" His hands flew to his face just in case his head had actually disappeared. "My whole head is gone!" The remaining bowlers, a ten-gallon hat, and two tossle caps lay at his feet with the chickens and wands. "This is brilliant, wait until Trevor sees these. We're going to figure out how all these things work."

"I'll tell you what," George said picking up the boy's items and setting them on the counter. "I like your charisma. What's your name?"

The boy pulled the cavalier off of his head, which was topped in unruly brown hair and covered in dirt. "The name's Frederick." He ran the sleeve of his jumper across his nose. "But only my mum calls me that. You can call me Rick." He extended his hand.

Still smiling, George shook the boy's hand in all its sticky, youthful glory. "It's very nice to meet you, Rick." A feeling of serenity washed over him. It wasn't just the boy's proper name or his love of Headless Hats and other joke products that made George pause. It was the curious gleam in his eyes and the confidence he carried himself with. Of course everyone had told him that his twin would always be there looking down on him, but today George knew that Fred was right there in the shop with him. "How about this. Why don't you just take these items as a gift – from one aspiring inventor to another?"

He could feel the boy's dumbstruck eyes on him as he slipped the products into several paper bags and heard the sound of coins jangling back into his pocket. Looking up, he handed the haul across the counter.

"Gee, thanks a lot, mister," the boy's voice squeaked.

"Nah. Just promise me you'll let me know if you ever figure out how those hats work? I've been trying to figure it out for years." Winking, George tousled the kid's hair.

Somehow, a short queue had formed since he had last looked, and he turned towards the next customer. To his surprise, a familiar redheaded face stood across the counter.

"Ginny." He jumped over the counter and wrapped his sister into a tight hug.

"Urghh." She squirmed out of his grasp as he flipped her hair over her face. "Thanks, George. Love you too."

"Of course you do – you're my favourite sister, after all. Besides, who doesn't love me?" he said, smiling at her unsuccessful attempts to smooth her hair down. Despite being his only sister, George had referred to Ginny as his _favourite _for as long as he could remember. When she was too young to join his and Fred's escapades, the title had served to appease her and had prevented her tantrums from alerting their mum to the mischief at hand. Straightening a small stack of adverts for _Cantankerous Cauldrons (Guaranteed to Complain More Than You While Brewing) _that he had bumped jumping over the counter, he sighed. "So, what do you want to see? Everything is on the house for you, of course. I have a few newer products that you may not have seen before we had to shut the place down. The _Black (Moustache) Tea Leaves _have done fairly well today. Prepare a cup for somebody, and they will have a fairly impressive black moustache in seconds – handlebar, pencil and Fu Manchu seem to be the crowd favourites. Oh and the _Extendable Ears_, an oldie but a goodie." He said, pulling items from their shelves at random.

"George." He felt the palm of her hand rest on his shoulder. "Stop. I came here to see you, not to leave with half the merchandise in the store." She shook her head. "I miss you, and, and – well I haven't seen you since summertime – I just wanted to see how you were doing and to tell you congratulations."

He turned towards her, his arms still full of the things he had pulled from the shelves. Something seemed off, though he wasn't sure if it was the lower volume than would be expected in a busy shop or the almost-stammer in her voice. "I've missed you too, Ginny." He paused for a moment, watching. One hand pulled a chunk of hair that had fallen over her shoulder. The other fiddled with the gold and scarlet fringes on the end of her Gryffindor scarf. The corner of her bottom lip was clamped between her teeth, and she chewed on it every few seconds. Her gaze was directed downward, fixedly away from him, on the tip of her trainer sticking out from beneath her cloak. Everything about her posture and mannerisms suggested that she was trying much too hard and failing to look okay. George felt his heart plummet into his stomach. "Gin, how've you been?" He set the armful of joke products down onto the shop floor. "It's okay, you know? Not every day can be a good one."

"No, George." She finally looked up from the floor and made eye contact with him. "I mean, yes. I'm fine. Sorry, I mean, this shouldn't be about me. This is your big day, after all."

"You're right, it is my big day. And if I want to make it about my favourite sister, then so be it."

"The shop looks phenomenal." She continued talking as though she hadn't noticed his attempts towards more serious talk, but the corners of her lips were pulled up a tad and her hands hung relaxed at her sides. "I'm proud of you."

"You know you can talk to me whenever you need to." Though he made a good attempt at pretending he hadn't heard her, he couldn't ignore her compliment. "You really think so?"

"Of course she thinks so. Everything in here is brilliant." George turned towards arrival of a familiar voice. "Of course brilliant in a _shows-an-intricate-understanding-of-magical-theory_ sort of way and not in an _it's-brilliant-to-prank-people_ sort of way."

"That really means a lot coming from you, Hermione." He grinned at the brunette witch. "Your _boyfriend_" – he drew the word out in a schoolyard singsong voice – "is in the back in the pyrotechnics section – revelling in the glory of being _the_ Ronald Weasley."

She rolled her eyes and turned away from him on her heels. "Boyfriend feels like such a juvenile term," she shouted over her shoulder before she disappeared behind a large display.

George shook his head at her retreating back and turned back towards his sister. "I really meant what I said, Gin."

"So I can really have the grow-your-own moustache tea like you said?" She smiled a wide, toothy grin. "I think Ron would look smashing in a black handlebar moustache. I'm sure Hermione would agree."

The image of his brother with a black moustache was nearly as funny as the look George would expect to be on Hermione's face when she saw the facial hair. Ginny had always had a good sense of all things amusing and nearly impeccable comedic timing. A swelling of pride filled his chest, and he threw his arm around her thin shoulders. She had very nearly distracted him from what he wanted to say. "Oh, Ginny. You're skilled at the art of distraction, but you have a lot of learning to do yet." She rolled her eyes, and George squeezed her shoulder to his a bit tighter than necessary. "What I was going to say is that I meant what I said. You can talk to me whenever about whatever."

"Even Fred?"

The boldness of her question surprised him, and he felt his feet stop of their own accord.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have – "

"No, Ginny. Anything means anything. Even Fred. It's good to talk about him." George felt his throat crack. "I mean, talking about him and the things we did, it almost makes it feel like he's here. I don't want to forget what that feels like."

He felt her pull away from his arm, and she turned to face him "George, I – "

The sound of the shop suddenly broke through the capsule that had surrounded their conversation. His throat felt dry and he was a bit shaky on his feet. This was not the time nor the place for melancholy. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had always been a lively, energetic place, and it would certainly remain that way. "Right." He cleared his throat. "So you said you wanted the handlebar variety? I have a few hybrid varieties if you're feeling brave? They're in the back room, if you want to help yourself. Take whatever, just let me know how they work?"

"Sounds great, George," she said, smiling as she turned towards the back room.

He was grateful that she had gracefully allowed their long-overdue conversation to be set aside in favour of the festivities of his grand re-opening. Somehow, they always seemed to be on the same page. If he had to guess, she would stop by his flat later in the evening armed with enough Bertie Bott's Every-Flavoured Beans and Pumpkin Pasties to choke a Hippogriff, and they would sit up far too late into the night stuffing their faces and catching up on lost time. She really was his favourite sister.

Smiling, George turned back to the bustle of customers in the shop. "Hi, ma'am how can I help you? I trust you're enjoying your shopping experience here at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?"

~::~

George inhaled and let a content, but tired sigh rush out of his chest. At last – there was no one standing in front of the till. Glancing down at his pocket watch, he couldn't believe that it had been a solid three hours since he had not had a line of people waiting to pay for their purchases. Opening the shop in synchrony with the arrival of the Hogwarts Express back to London had proved to be a brilliant plan of action. Only a little over an hour remained until the grand opening came to a close, and the rest of the evening had passed in a blur of chatting customers, jingling Sickles and smiling faces. The aisles were beginning to clear out, and only a handful of shoppers still flitted around the various sections of merchandise.

"You did well today."

Ron's voice behind the counter surprised George, and he turned to see his brother. The younger Weasley's lanky frame was leaned forward onto a display of _Exploding Bubble Gum _and a large grin was plastered on his face. George couldn't help but mimic his face.

"_We_ did really well today," he said, clapping his shoulders. "Though, we're still open. Shouldn't you be manning the fireworks? I don't fancy having one of those dragon whizbangs accidentally going off in here."

"Merlin, that'd be awful." Ron chuckled. "But I figure I'd give you a heads up – I think somebody may be here to see you. In case you maybe wanted to go say hello, or something."

"Angelina's here?"

"Easy there, I never said it was Angelina." Ron's eyebrows slyly rose into his hairline, and his mouth adopted an amused, all-knowing smirk. George didn't like the look one bit, and cursed his voice for sounding so eager. "But if it were Angelina, would that make a difference?"

"Ron, get back to the pyrotechnics section before I tell Hermione that story of the one Boxing Day when you cried because –"

"That's a low blow, George. Low blow," he said, grumbling as he retreated to the back corner of the shop.

George watched Ron walk away and he contemplated who else his visitor could be. Lee had stopped in earlier in the evening and bought a wide assortment of products that George very much doubted he'd be telling Indira about. Bill and Harry had both popped their heads in on their way home from the Ministry. Even Oliver Wood had paid him a visit with the youth Quidditch team he coached on the weekends. George exhaled and ran his hand through the front of his hair. He supposed it could be Percy, though that was a long shot. The idea of Percy in a joke shop was nearly as ludicrous as the thought of his rumoured affair with the office clerk. Sifting through the list of possible visitors made George feel better about jumping to Angelina so quickly. At least reason didn't dispute his keen subconscious.

"Hey stranger."

The sound of her voice affirmed her identity.

"Hey yourself."

He felt the corners of his mouth pull upwards. They had talked about this phenomenon – how he couldn't help but smile whenever she was around – the last time she had stopped by his flat to help him finish sorting his and Fred's things. She of course was sceptical, and he had valiantly attempted to regain voluntary control of his facial muscles. He had failed miserably and ended up laughing and snorting the tea she had prepared for them up his nose. Whatever it was about her, he appreciated it and had begun to look forward to the limited time they spent together.

"Is that really him?"

The sound of a small voice pulled George from his thoughts. A young boy was hiding behind Angelina's legs, more or less failing at being inconspicuous. Another, younger boy held her hand at the end of a chubby extended arm.

"Of course that's him, Andre. Mr Weasley Wheezes himself," the smaller of the boys said, tugging at Angelina's arm.

George glanced from the boys to Angelina and bent his knees to be at their level. "So how is it that you know who I am, but I don't know either of you?"

The smaller boy piped up and pulled away from Angelina's grasp to stand directly in front of George. Both his hands were tucked behind his back and he swayed from side to side. "I'm Elliot Johnson-Guidry and I'm five years old." As if to prove his age, he held out his hand with all five fingers extended. "And that's my brother. He's eight." Elliot turned his attention to his fingers, and struggled with them as though he wasn't sure exactly how many eight was.

"These are my nephews, George." Angelina reclaimed Elliot's hand before he had solved his numerical problem. "This one here, as you've been told, is Elliot and this is Andre." She stepped to the side to reveal the older boy. "He loves jokes. Valerie brought them here once and Andre fell in love." She ruffled the boy's braided hair. "When he found out I knew you, he begged me to introduce you."

"Yeah, but now he's being all shy. He's always shy."

"Elliot." A woman, very much resembling Angelina save for her wild, combed-out hair and the beginnings of lines around her eyes came out from around the corner. "Be nice to your brother or you'll have to wait outside." She turned her attention away from the boy. "And you must be George Weasley, Valerie Johnson, it's so nice to finally meet you." She extended her hand.

George pulled himself back to his feet and returned the handshake. "Nice to meet you, too."

"Valerie," Angelina hissed.

The older Johnson smiled at her sister and grabbed Elliot by the hand. "Come on El, let's look at all these things over here. Leave Auntie Ang alone."

Smiling, George turned his attention back towards Angelina and Andre, who still stood mostly behind her. She rolled her eyes and pushed the boy in front of her, resting her hands on his shoulders. "Merlin. You'd think that after twenty-one years, she'd be tired of teasing me. But, you know how older siblings are, I suppose. Always think they know everything."

"Hey." Andre pulled away from her, giving the sternest look his face could muster.

"You're the exception to that rule, of course, Andre." She poked the boy's nose. "Why don't you say hello to Mr George? It's all you've been talking about for days and the shop closes soon." He seemed to contemplate her words, but made no attempt to actually say anything. She glanced back to George. "We meant to be here earlier, but Valerie is about as prompt as a troll."

"I'm glad you could come, Angelina." Honestly, he wasn't sure where'd the shop would be right now without her help. She had kept him company throughout most of his evenings spent going through dozens of boxes – had listened to each of his stories, shared her own and politely looked away when something caught him off guard and made his voice wobble. He knew that he ought to thank her, but the words were stuck in his throat. Instead, he turned to Andre. "So Andre, how does this sound. You go and pick your favourite thing from the shelves. Anything at all, and I'll tell you exactly how it works. Just you."

"Really?" His voice was small, but excitement quivered on its surface. "You'd do that for me? Could you even sign it? Gee whiz, if Elliot sees I have your autograph."

George had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. "Of course I'll sign it. Go on and pick something out, all right?"

"Do you realize the can of Flubberworms you just opened?" Angelina smirked at him as Andre disappeared behind a shelf of rubber chickens.

"Eh. Andre's a tough kid. He'll be all right. Though that Elliot is a firecracker."

"You have no idea. He was rather subdued today." She took a step closer to George, and he felt his heart rate flutter.

She was close enough now that he could smell her light perfume and could see the glossiness of her lips. His breath caught in his throat as he remembered how soft they felt beneath his own. He wondered if they still tasted like oranges and whether they would still leave trails of heat along his skin. A numbness washed over his body and he inhaled deeply, trying to clear his mind of thoughts from another lifetime. It was no good to dredge through the past and what could have been. He liked what he and Angelina had now – a simple, easy friendship.

"So I was wondering" – he jumped as the sound of her voice broke through the thoughts racing in his head – "if maybe you'd like to –"

"Mr George, Mr George." Elliot's shrill voice broke through the shop. "This package says U-No-Poo. Mum says 'poo' is a nasty word. You're gonna be in trouble."

"Elliot, get your skinny little arse back over here. Now. Auntie Ang is talking to Mr George. It's rude to interrupt."

Angelina pursed her lips together and looked downward for a moment. "She doesn't see it, but it's amazing how alike those two are."

George chuckled. "They both have impeccable timing, that's for sure. What were you going to ask me?"

"Oh, that. I was just going to see if you'd like to come to Alicia's and my New Year's party with me. It's just casual. Nothing big. Just some friends and stuff. I'm pretty sure Lee is going to be there. He asked if he could bring a date, so I'm anxious to see who this mystery lady is."

"Did he now?" George smirked hoping that his second encounter with Indira would be less awkward than his first.

"Here. I found it." Andre scampered over to George's side with a stuffed, furry rat in his hands. "A disappearing rat. This will drive Mum bonkers." He handed it to George and smiled expectantly as George signed the creature's stomach. "Wait until Elliot sees this. Elliot, Elliot –"

"He really idolizes you, George. You probably made his week." Angelina tucked several loose braids behind her shoulder and glanced over to where Andre had found Elliot. Valerie was nowhere to be seen. "Oh, I should probably go and break up the fight that is surely about to happen."

"They'll be fine."

Smiling, she rolled her eyes at him and turned towards the boys.

"I'm really glad you came today, Angelina. I'll see you at your party, then?"

~::~


	8. Angelina, June 1995

**Angelina, June 1995 **

Angelina deals with the fall out of Cedric's death.

_"His death has affected you all, whether you knew him well or not." – Albus Dumbledore, GoF pp 421-422_

* * *

"_Cedric was a person who exemplified many of the qualities which distinguish Hufflepuff house. He was a good and loyal friend, a hard worker, and he valued fair play. His death has affected you all, whether you knew him well or not." _

Dumbledore's words from the end of term banquet rang in her mind as she stared out the lone window of her dormitory. It was far too late and too dark to discern anything besides vague outlines beyond the window pane, but having lived in the same dormitory and having looked out the same window for the past six years made seeing more or less irrelevant. The grounds were surely there, rolling out and around the walls of the castle. Ripples likely spread across the surface of the lake as the giant squid or some such creature glided beneath its surface, and the tiny silhouettes of owls stretching their wings almost certainly dotted the sky.

It seemed odd that everything was more or less the same as it had always been when so much had changed. Cedric was dead. He would not be returning to school with the rest of the seventh years next autumn. He wouldn't play Quidditch, or study for N.E. , or get the chance to be chosen as Head Boy. The finality of it all felt very surreal, and Angelina inhaled an unsteady breath in an attempt to shake the numbness that had settled over her. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever considered the possibility of losing a classmate and friend before he had gotten the chance to find a life outside of Hogwarts. Of course, they had all been told that the Triwizard Tournament was dangerous, and that if they chose to enter, they did so at their own risk, but those warnings had surely just been words passed along by adults obligated to worry over them. No one was actually supposed to die – and all the talk about murder, about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named – it was just too much.

Angelina scrunched her eyes shut tightly before opening them. Colorful flecks dotted her vision, but the window remained just as black as the sky. She jumped when a loud snore from the direction of Marjorie's four poster cut through the silence of the dormitory. Clearly Witch Weekly's snore-no-more solution that the girl swore by was working wonders.

Sighing, she turned away from the window.

The scarlet bed hangings were closed tightly around three of the five beds. In an uncharacteristic move, Erin and Marjorie had retired not long after the somber end-of-term feast had ended, and if Marjories's snores and their lack of whispers were any evidence, they were now both fast asleep. Lora, who had been quiet on the trek up from the Great Hall, had also disappeared, though Angelina knew that her friend wasn't yet sleeping. The sound of her quill scratching lightly against parchment, most likely writing to Michael the Muggle, betrayed her early retirement. Only the curtains around her own bed and Alicia's bed remained open. The later had disappeared shortly before the headmaster had given the feast's closing remarks, leaving Angelina alone with her ruminating thoughts.

Angelina had a fairly good idea where Alicia had disappeared to, and had already convinced herself that the absent brunette was the reason she was still awake, perched on a window ledge – she was definitely only waiting for Alicia's return. That's just what friends did. She was certainly not avoiding closing her eyes out fear of the empty numbness taking over. Merlin, she had put her name into the goblet last term, and had been a twinge jealous of the boy ever since. What if she had been in the maze, instead of Cedric? She shook herself, roughly swallowed the feeling of bile creeping up the back of her throat, and wished for Alicia's return. She inhaled a slow and shaky breath, willing the dormitory door to swing open. When no such thing happened, her eyes panned over the unusually bare walls around her.

Five mostly-packed trunks sat in the centre of the round room. Tucked away within them was all the clutter – the school supplies, clothing, pennants, posters and photographs – that typically made the dark stone walls feel like home. Rather than suggesting that a long, relaxing summer was right around the corner, the trunks left a cold, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed that back as well and chided herself. If only there was an off-switch for this line of thinking.

Pushing the heels of her hands into her eyes, she slumped back against the cool glass. Perhaps, despite feeling hollow and wholly unaffected by the prospect of summer, it was just what she needed. A summer away from the castle, away from all the grief and the whispered rumors of how and why and who would do everybody some good. According to the last letter her mum had written, her oldest sister, Valerie, was still in the country with Andre and her newest little nephew - Elliot, she said his name was. Angelina felt a small smile flicker at the corner of her mouth – meeting the newest Johnson was definitely something to look forward to.

The sound of the dormitory's wooden door slowly swinging open cut through her thoughts.

"Alicia?" She sat up from her slumped position on the window ledge and glanced along the sliver of light shining across the stone floor from the stairwell. "That you?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"It's about time you showed up," Angelina said, with all the playfulness she could muster. "I've been watching for you to come back since the feast ended." Her eyes followed her friend as she crossed the room and pulled herself up onto the window ledge next to her.

"I know what you're going to say, but don't." There was no playfulness in Alicia's voice. Her normal teasing tone sounded weary and defensive. "I know you keep telling me that I shouldn't continue spending time with guys after I break up with them, but I don't know. Eddie had asked if we could take a walk and, well, I couldn't tell him no – "

"Alicia, I – "

"And besides, all we did was walk down to the pitch. We barely even said anything – he was so quiet, we just sat there in the grass under the near-hoops. It was sort of weird, but I think it helped him some to get out of the castle. So I don't care what you think about me sneaking out of the castle with him, I'm glad I did it, and I'd do it again. And you can just keep your big-sister-advice to yourself."

Angelina watched as she scrunched her eyes shut and leaned back against the cool glass of the window. A heavy silence had settled between the two girls - even the scratching of Lora's quill from behind her bed curtains has stilled - and she paused a minute before breaking it.

"Alicia, I wasn't going to say anything, even before you gave your little monologue."

The brunette opened her eyes, but made no attempt to pull herself up from her slouched position. "You weren't?" she asked. A hint of incredulousness laced through her words. "I'm always doing the same thing, falling back into the same old patterns. You'd probably be right to say something."

"Well, don't worry about that. I wasn't going to say anything. Cedric was Eddie's best mate, and you're a lovely person. He may be denser than troll hide, but he was smart enough to know he could count on you."

"I swear nothing happened this time – I'm really done dating him."

"I know, Alicia. I know." She snaked her arm around her best friend's shoulders. "I feel like the rules of social norms are allowed to be broken when bad things happen."

"I can't believe he's really dead, Ang."

"Oi, are you two awake?" Lora's head peeped out from her bed.

"No, we're both fast asleep," Alicia called across the room.

"Well, I'm not either." The sarcasm seemed to escape her, and Lora continued speaking from between her curtains. "I've tried, but I just can't seem to fall asleep – I just keep thinking about his poor parents. And Cho, God. And how I'd feel if that'd have been Michael."

Angelina slipped down from the window ledge and made her way to Lora's four poster. The stone floor was cold against her feet, and her toes curled in protest. "Here," she said pulling the curtain aside, "budge over, will you?"

"We haven't had a sleepover in years." Alicia called, shuffling over to the bed. "Bloody shame something like this has to happen to prompt one."

Angelina scooted down so her shoulders were beneath to the covers. It had been several minutes since anyone had said anything, but she could tell by their pattern of breathing that Alicia and Lora were both still awake too. It really had been years since the three of them had hidden out in one of their beds, sharing secrets and jokes until late in the night, when sleep would finally take over. They had called it their fort – it had been the foundation their friendship was built upon. The years had slowly stripped away their time for late night frivolities and stolen the space behind the curtains so that the three girls were forced to lay shoulder to shoulder, but she still felt the same peace and comfort knowing her best friends were at her side.

"Lora? Alicia?" she whispered into the darkness. "I'm glad I have you."

~::~

The gentle rumble of the Hogwarts Express as it careened southward toward London, and an entire, glorious summer away from the castle's stone corridors and the shocked silence that had filled them during the past few days of the term, had lulled Angelina into a barely-conscious state. Sunshine shone through a thin wisp of clouds that lined the border between earth and sky. Leaning against the window next to her seat, she could feel its warmth seep into her skin. It was a beautiful day beyond the walls of the train car – the sort of day that Oliver Wood had always categorized as a 'Quidditch Day.' She hadn't spent much time on a broomstick of late, but could imagine the feel of a broomstick in her hands and the rush of air around her body with very little effort.

At least there'd be Quidditch next term.

"Ang?"

The sound of her name crashed through her lazy thoughts like an unanticipated Bludger. Recognizing Alicia's voice, she shook the sleepy feeling from her head and turned away from the green Scottish hillside rolling past the window. The interior of their compartment was dim in contrast to the sunlight beyond the window, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. The seat next to Lora had been vacated. Alicia stood in the doorway of the compartment, and her hands grasped the door frame to keep herself from losing her balance if the train happened to give a particularly large lurch. She was staring at Angelina, most likely waiting for the answer to whatever question she had preceded her name.

"Do you want anything off the trolley?" Alicia asked, apparently repeating her question. "It's over at the next train car, and I don't know about you, but I need a Chocolate Frog or ten. And Lora wants a Pumpkin Pasty. "

Lora sat with a colourfully bound book open on her lap, but it didn't look as though she had made any process with it since they had boarded the train – the top corner of the page was still turned down where she had last marked her place. Her head was tilted and Angelina wondered whether her blue eyes had been watching her while she had been lost outside the window.

"What're you thinking about, Ang?" Lora asked. Her eyes gazed out the window as though she were looking for a clue. "It's a beautiful day out there."

"Yes, it really is." Angelina pushed several of her braids back from her face. "Just thinking about Quidditch next term, and – "

_How strange it would to take the field against Hufflepuff without Cedric. _

Her brain completed the thought where her words had dropped off. She was surprised – she actually hadn't been thinking anything of the sort before answering Lora. The warm, soaring feeling she had felt imagining herself up in the air was promptly staunched. If they weren't before, Lora's eyes were now certainly watching her.

" – and N.E. and such." Angelina quickly finished her sentence, fighting the hollow sensation creeping up her throat.

"N.E. ? God, Ang. I'm not even thinking about N.E. yet." Lora shut her book, as though she was finally admitting a defeat in making any progress with it. "I hope the weather is this nice in London."

"Right, Chocolate Frogs it is, then."

Angelina's and Lora's heads both snapped towards the doorway, where Alicia was still leaning. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and one of her eyebrows was cocked up beneath the edge of her fringe.

"Holy hippogriff, Alicia, I'm sorry. I completely forgot I hadn't answered you. Here, I'll go get sweets for all of us." Angelina jumped up from her seat, hoping to leave the increasingly familiar hollow feeling behind her, and bounded towards the door, pushing away the coins in Alicia's hand. "No, no. My treat."

The length of the corridor outside their compartment buzzed as students made their way to and from the trolley in the neighbouring car. A pair of now-second year boys scampered towards her, their pockets loaded with so many lollies and pasties and frogs that Angelina could only hope there were at least three or four more of them in their compartment. She recognized one of the as the little Gryffindor that had fallen in the lake on the very first night in the castle – Dennis Creevey, his name was. He nodded, smiling as he brushed past her. She watched as he and his friend disappeared into their compartment. The boy was always smiling – there was something to be said for that ability, and she felt the whisper of a smile play at her own lips.

"And for you, dears – what can I get for you?" The sound of the trolley witch's voice rang down the corridor.

The handful of Sickles she had stashed in her robe pocket before they had left Hogwarts weighed against her leg. She had to get Chocolate Frogs for Alicia soon – the whinging that would surely happen if she didn't was nearly as frightening as the thought of next term's potions course. Now that she thought about it, perhaps she'd buy a Frog or two for herself. Some chocolate was beginning to sound nothing short of necessary.

Angelina hastened along the corridor and squeezed through the door to the next train car, the idea of introducing her nephew to Famous Witches and Wizards Cards bouncing around in the back of her head. She heard the trolley before she saw it. Bits of conversation – summer plans, gossip about who was seen snogging whom, rumours about Cedric and what had happened in the maze – floated in the air with increasing volume as she approached it. A handful of students milled around the red-and-white-striped cart. A cheery, round-faced witch stood behind it, exchanging Knuts and Sickles for smiles and sweets.

"And what can I get for you today, my dear?" The witch, whose name tag identified her as a Violet, asked in a wobbly voice.

"Erm," Angelina stalled as she fished money her pockets. She swore they were only deep while she was trying to find something in them; any other time, they almost too shallow to secure a quill. "All right," she finally said as her hands closed around the coins and she handed them to Violet, "I'll take two Pumpkin Pasties and a dozen or so Chocolate Frogs, please."

"A dozen or so Chocolate Frogs? Bloody hell, Johnson, do you have a date with a Dementor that I don't know about?" Lee had appeared at her side – a smirk, which shouted just how clever he thought he was, was pasted on his face. He tossed his dreads back from his face and swung his arm around her shoulders. "Between you and me, I'd choose a Dementor over a certain ginger any day. I'm sure the hooded soul-sucker wouldn't drag its feet about things quite as much – since they float and all."

Angelina narrowed her eyes at him as he grinned, waiting for her to say something. Their friendship, she had determined, revolved around this continued interplay of action and reaction – she swore he lived for her response. It had been a while since they had danced a round of their game, and she figured she may as well play it up for him. Slipping out from his arm, she shook her head and made sure he saw her exaggerated eye roll.

"Now, now Johnson – no need to get hostile."

"I'm just going to ignore the last part of what you said, since it is completely ridiculous," she said, unable to keep from smiling, "and unless the Dementor's name is Alicia, the first bit is ridiculous too. She's a firm believer in chocolate therapy as a solution for all problems."

"I see." A serious look crept up his face. "I saw her leave the Great Hall with Eddie last night. Is she doing all right?" Lee asked.

"Well, she ordered up a Chocolate Frog or ten, if that's any indication – I just think we all need some time."

Lee nodded knowingly. "If it makes her feel any better, I ended up in the Astronomy Tower with Libby last night." He chuckled at his own predicament.

"Libby McNulty?" Angelina felt her brow dart up her forehead. "You spent all of January trying to avoid her after the Yule Ball debacle, and now you decide to, four months later, take her up to the Astronomy Tower?" She winced at the incredulous tone her voice had adopted, wondering if she should have tried to sound more sincere.

"I'm not even sure how I ended up there. Relapse, I suppose. Something about grief and loss and the stars smiling on her and I – I'm not proud, but like I said, if Alicia needs a little pick-me-up – "

"Do I hear my Lee?" a voice called down the corridor.

Angelina watched in amusement as Lee's eyes dilated in panic. It was a fight not to laugh as Libby came strutting down the corridor towards him. It really was a shame that a girl as pretty as she was, was such a toad.

"Thank Merlin I ran into you," Libby cooed, sidling up against his chest. "I was so afraid you wouldn't get to see me before we got to London, and, well, I know how horrible that would have been for you. You've said so yourself – I work emotional magic."

Lee stood perfectly still while she talked, as though there were a chance she'd forget he was there – which, given the size of her ego, was entirely likely.

"Oh, Angie," she said, likely only then realizing Angelina was also standing near the trolley, "Fred, or George - no – maybe Fred - oh, as if it matters, right? One of the twins asked if I'd seen you when I popped into their compartment to look for my Lee. People clearly recognize what a social presence I am in this school. But, yes. I think he may want to see you – third compartment down from here."

"Thanks, Libby." Angelina shot Lee a sympathetic look and scooped her bag of sweets off the side of the trolley where Violet had set them – if nothing else, the witch's hours behind the trolley were undoubtedly amusing.

_George wanted to see her._

She made a conscious effort not to walk the distance to the third compartment from the sweets trolley too quickly, cursing herself for the hike in her pulse and the flutter in her stomach. After all, they were, for all intents and purposes, only friends. Of course, they had spent a lot of time together this past term, but his body language was so consistently platonic, save for some hand-holding that was all too easy to explain away. No, Angelina completely blamed Alicia's perpetual game of Salazar's advocate – all of her observations, what-ifs, and hypotheses – for her continued courtship of this irrational optimism.

Taking a deep breath to try and regain her composure, she slid the door of the compartment open.

"Angelina," George said. He sat alone in the compartment; a roll of parchment was unrolled on his lap, and a bright red quill was tucked behind his ear. His face wore a wide smile that continued all the way up into his eyes.

"Libby ran into Lee and me by the trolley and said you were looking for me?" She slipped down into the seat next to him. "Though she didn't seem able to tell if you were you or Fred."

"Ah, Libby. Lee's a lucky man." He turned towards Angelina, settling back into his seat. "He'll have to let me know how he found such a great catch. The pride of Ravenclaw house, that one"

His eyes made contact with hers, and she had to force herself not to read into it. A summer away from Alicia's romantic conspiracies was definitely in order. Breaking eye contact, she stared into the compartment and cleared her throat. "So, where's Fred at? I didn't expect to find you alone in here."

"Eh, he went off to find Hollis – something about wishing her a happy holiday." He began to roll the parchment on his lap. "Plus, I assume he wanted to share the news with her." Tapping the parchment with his wand, it vanished. He looked back up at her with wide eyes, and fidgeted in his seat. His whole body seemed to encourage her to ask him what the news was.

"And what news is that?" Angelina didn't have to pretend to play along; a tingle of curiosity danced under her skin.

"It's actually going to happen – the joke shop," George practically shouted. "Harry, that bloody wonderful scrawny git, he gave Fred and me all his winnings. All one thousand Galleons of it. Ang – " he grabbed her shoulder, practically shaking her " – the research, the materials, the actual premise, we can afford all of it. Merlin, just think how many Canary Creams that is."

Without thinking, Angelina threw her arms around him. The dream of owning a joke shop was something George had talked to her about so often that she struggled to find the words adequate enough to congratulate him now that the dream could be a reality. One hand on the back of his head, his hair rough against her palm and the other in the middle of his back, she became acutely aware that his own hands had wrapped behind her waist, pulling her towards him. The feel of his breath against her neck sent trails of cauldron fizz flooding through her body.

She dropped her hands, not knowing exactly what to do. Her mind was racing, and she didn't trust her own assessment of the situation. He followed suit and pulled away from her. Settling back in her seat, she chanced a look back up at him.

His eyes watched her for a moment before he, too, sat back in his seat. "Harry, erm," he said, struggling to find his voice, "he didn't want the money, especially considering how he had won it. He told us to get inventing – that the world could do with a few laughs."

"That's brilliant, George." She had finally found her voice. "Harry – he's a good one. Do you really think that, everything he said – everything Dumbledore said. Do you think that You-Know-Who's really back?" The question surprised her – she hadn't realized she was wondering it, and felt slightly traitorous asking. After all, she knew how close the Weasley family was with Harry. She fiddled with the bag of sweets that she had left sitting on the seat, cursing herself for the umpteenth time that day.

She had single-handedly derailed the celebration over George and Fred's news.

"I should get back to my compartment." She rose from her seat not waiting for his answer. "I was supposed to be bringing Chocolate Frogs back to Alicia, and I've been gone forever. She'll be crankier than one of Hagrid's Skrewts."

"Hey, Angelina," George called as she turned towards the compartment door. "Be careful this summer, eh? I, erm, I don't think I'd know what to do if something happened to you."

"You, too."

They were only two words, but as Angelina left the compartment and made her way back to Alicia and Lora, she felt as though some sort of mutual understanding had settled between them.

~::~


	9. George, New Year's Eve 1998

**George, December 1998**

George attends a New Year's Eve party at Angelina's flat.

_"Oh, George, look," Angelina said stepping away from him, "The Muggles from upstairs are lighting fireworks out there."_

* * *

Turning the nozzle off, the spray of the shower slowed to its normal, irritatingly persistent drip. One of these days he was going to have to break down and call a maintenance wizard to repair it – his own rather crafty attempts at repairing the faucet had apparently been insufficient. Despite the heavy moisture now hanging in the small bathroom, the air in his flat felt lighter than it had in months. Though he'd thought about it, George couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly had caused the change.

In truth, it had more likely been a slow evolution. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had opened, and holiday sales had far surpassed even his most optimistic expectations. He, Ron, and Verity had been working almost literally around the clock in order to keep the shelves stocked and the patrons satisfied. There had scarcely been a time in which there was nobody at least browsing the display cases or watching a demonstration in awe. It had certainly been an exhausting few weeks, but whenever he finally got the chance to lay his head on his pillow he had often found himself wondering why he hadn't done it all sooner. Christmas too had come and gone in the hustle and bustle of carols, heaping dishes of his mum's cooking, and walls bursting at the seams with friends and family. Though each seat around the Burrow's long table had been occupied – Hermione and her dentist parents, Harry, Kingsley, Luna Lovegood and the batty Xenophilus from over the hill – the space Fred left behind could not be filled. Despite the bitter ache of his absence, they had all been able to enjoy the holiday together. His mum had called it the magic of the holiday. Now it was very nearly a new year – and not a moment too soon. The wizarding world was long overdue for a fresh start, after all.

Stepping out of the shower and running a towel over his hair, George cleared a circle in the condensation that had collected on the mirror over his washroom sink. He hadn't seen Angelina since the joke shop's grand opening, but she had written him earlier with the specifics of the New Year's party she had invited him to – festivities would be starting up around eight, there would be plenty of food and drink, and she was looking forward to spending the evening with him. The soft lines of her signature, the possibility of what this evening could mean, had left his pulse elevated and memories of heated, orange-flavoured kisses racing through his mind.

"Merlin, Oddie," he said to the reflection of his small, red-coloured owl perched on top of the shower rod across from the mirror, "what on earth did she mean by that?" The meaning of the words in her letter flickered teasingly in his mind, and he scrunched his eyes shut before leaning in closer to the mirror. Scrutinizing the layer of stubble that had appeared on his chin - and looked more like a bad sunburn than actual facial hair - he retrieved his razor and shaving salve from the tiny cabinet below the sink. "At the shop, she made tonight seem like a casual get together with some people from school, but now - now she's looking forward to spending the evening with me."

Oddie let out a long hoot and fluttered down to the edge of the sink bowl.

"I mean, it is New Year's Eve, and, well, I just don't know what she expects from me this evening – am I her _date_? Not that I'd complain. Angelina, she's just brilliant. And of course we've – " He felt his pulse hitch at the memory.

The owl cocked his head, clacking his beak in an almost teasing fashion.

George glared at the owl and began spreading a layer of the shaving cream over his face before continuing where he left off. "But that was different, everything was – us, the world, the bloody war. I just don't know." Turning the faucet on, he ran the blade of the razor under the stream of water. Had his facial hair first started growing at any other point during his adolescence, he could have just muttered a run-of-the-mill hair removal charm, but it hadn't. Instead, he and Fred had learned to shave at the height of their dad's fascination with Muggle shaving mirrors and razors, and old habits died hard.

Stretching out his face, he pulled the blade across his skin. He could feel Oddie's eyes watching him and heard him fluff his feathers. George knew the bird was settling into his perch on the sink.

"You're a good owl, boy," he said, clearing another strip of his face, "tolerating me whining like a school girl. But you know, what Angelina and I have now – it's good, and I don't want to mess that up by thinking she wants something more if she doesn't, or continuing on like we are if she does. Godric, I feel like we've always come back to this unspoken cat and mouse game. I wish we could just _be._" Cupping his hands under the stream of water, he leaned over the sink bowl and splashed on his face.

Oddie let out an agitated shriek. George jumped and rapidly blinked water from his eyes – he had apparently splashed the poor owl that was once again perched on the shower rod, preening his feathers.

"Sorry, boy."

The owl looked down at him with a sullen stare.

"Fine then, stay mad at me," he said, turning his back on the brooding bird. "Just remember this if _you_ ever need to talk." Reaching up, he grabbed the owl and tossed him out the window into the evening air. It was already after eight, the wording of Angelina's letter was no less baffling, and he still needed to find a clean robe to wear.

~::~

The world around him stilled, and George felt his feet make contact the brick bottom of Angelina and Alicia's fireplace. He had been ready to Apparate from his Diagon Alley flat when he remembered that the girls' flat was located in Muggle London, and while materializing in an unsuspecting, likely-intoxicated group of Muggles would certainly have been memorable, breaking the International Statute of Secrecy may have put a damper on the evening's festivities. Luckily, there had been a pinch of Floo Powder in the bottom of his canister. Brushing the bit of soot from his green dragon-skin jacket, he stepped out of the hearth. A handful of familiar faces filled the room – the lucky ones crowded on the sofa while others sat at the wooden chairs from the table, or stood leaning against bookshelves. The buzz of their voices, cheery with the promise of a new year and a hint of the alcohol they had already consumed, intermixed with an upbeat pop tune playing from the wireless in the corner.

Despite the anxious feeling swirling around in the pit of his stomach, he felt a wide smile spread across his face. It had been a long time since he had had a good time with friends.

"Well, fancy seeing you here," said the smiling face of Indira Shah. She had appeared at his side from the direction of the kitchen with Lee in tow. They both had white cups grasped in their hands, and the latter held a plate of crisps and some sort of steaming dip.

"Georgie." Lee drew out the last syllable, looking between his hands as if to confirm that they were in fact full, and nodded in greeting. "Bloody hell, Wanda Garcia, do you think you could MC a worse program for New Year's Eve?" he shouted over his shoulder in the direction of the wireless, before turning back to the group. "I do have to be grateful. She took my shift so I could be here with Indira – can't leave my girl alone on New Year's Eve," he said wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "But good old Professor Binns is more interesting than she is – Wanda, not Indira, of course. Indira is very interesting." He winked at George and dipped his head to nuzzle her shoulder.

Smiling, Indira rolled her eyes and skirted away from him.

"Oh, Lee." George clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder, sensing that he had beaten most of the party to the point of intoxication. "It's good to see you, mate. And Indira." He turned towards her and hooked his arm over her shoulders. "I barely recognized you with your trousers on. Last time you found me in a sitting room you and Lee had just been –"

"– broadcasting, yes, I remember," she said, slipping away from his arms as well. "You're really never going to let me forget that, are you?"

"Oh, I will eventually, when something equally amusing replaces it in my arsenal." He smirked and helped himself to the white cup in Lee's hand. The burn of firewhisky seared his throat. "So, are you two actually here together? You finally out of the broom closet, then?"

"Well –"

"—I finally managed to convince her that I'm much too good looking to keep secret," Lee stated, cutting off whatever explanation she was about to offer.

Indira stared at him, a hint of amusement played behind her eyes. "What Lee is trying to say," she said without breaking eye contact with him, "is that we've been keeping everything quiet for so long, and we're going to have to tell my family eventually, so I thought it may be helpful to be honest with you all first – sort of like a practice trial."

"Well I think it's brilliant." George smiled at his best friend and, now, non-secret girlfriend, his thoughts flickering to Angelina and her note. Regardless of how he interpreted her words, she still wanted to spend the evening with him. "Say, do either of you know where –"

"Johnson's in the kitchen, lover boy."

Lee had most definitely reached intoxication – even without the cup of firewhisky that he had swiped from him. George smiled at Indira, who had flashed him a sympathetic grin, before making his way through the room to the kitchen.

A delicious smell wafted up from the several trays and bowls that lined the small countertop. George inhaled and felt his stomach rumble, but the sound of laughter recaptured his attention. Angelina stood in the centre of the kitchen with Katie Bell and Alicia. All three women clutched at their sides with their heads thrown back, not noticing him standing in the doorway. A warm feeling rose up in his chest. There was something cathartic about seeing other people so happy.

"And then, if you remember –" Alicia said between bursts of merriment "—Oliver nearly choked on his biscuit, and Madam Hooch had to perform a Summoning Charm to save him."

"Oh my Merlin, could you imagine the _Prophet_'s obituary if she hadn't?" Katie asked. "'Budding, neurotic Quidditch star chokes to death on biscuit in response to the detention of his team's Seeker.'" Laughing along with the others, she glanced up and smiled warmly in the direction of the doorway.

"George," she exclaimed, "we were just remembering some Oliver Wood Classics – he's supposed to be stopping by later, and we wanted to be prepared."

Alicia's and Angelina's heads swivelled towards the doorway, their circle expanding to accommodate him, but George hardly noticed. The latter's eyes had locked onto his, and he momentarily felt as though he had been Petrified.

"Right," he heard Alicia's voice say, "come on, Katie. We should probably go check in on the guests in the other room – leave these two here."

George blinked as they brushed passed him. He needed to reign in his thoughts – his speculative conversation with Oddie had him over-analysing everything. He watched Angelina cross the kitchen towards him. A smile crept across his face, and he took a step forward.

"I'm so glad you were able to be here." She threw her arms around him and pulled him into an amicable hug. Before he could decide what he should do with his own arms, she had stepped back. "Have you eaten? My mum sent me some of her party recipes – I'm anxious to see what you think of them, especially these. I spent most of the day cooking; Merlin knows Alicia's a nightmare in the kitchen." She turned and grabbed a plate and piled a bit of everything on it. "She took over planning the bar. Needless to say, there is enough alcohol in this flat for everyone to float into the New Year."

"Lee must be the captain of the raft, then," he chuckled, taking the plate from Angelina's hands. "I talked to him and Indira when I got here, and he was already about halfway to floating."

She laughed and rolled her eyes at her friend's expense. "He's quite the character. I cannot believe they've been dating since last March without us knowing. You should have seen Libby's face when they Flooed in holding hands." She paused in response to the incredulous look that flashed across George's face. "We didn't intend to invite her, really, but she overheard Katie talking about it in the atrium one day, and, well, here Libby is." She shrugged, and he felt her watching him as he chewed a bite of the vol-au-vent she had placed on his plate with particular flourish.

"Holy hippogriff, Ang," he said, swallowing, "this is brilliant."

"Really? You're not just saying that to be polite?"

"Really, truly. I pinkie swear." He held up his hand with his smallest finger extended.

She giggled and grasped his pinkie with her own. "I cannot believe I'm twenty-one years old and am making a pinkie promise."

"Eh, I'm a good investment."

"Oi," Lee called from the doorway, much louder than necessary, "George, Johnson - I don't know what you two are doing in here, but there are drinks to be drunk in the next room. You'll be the only sober ones here if you hide out in here much longer."

"Thanks, Lee," George called over his shoulder, matching his friend's volume. He turned back to Angelina, who still had her finger wrapped around his. "So, would you like to go and get a drink with me?"

"Sounds brilliant." Several seconds, which could have well been lifetimes, passed before her dark eyes looked away from his face, and she dropped his finger. "I'm glad you liked my food."

The sitting room was a touch livelier than it had been when he had first arrived. Several of Alicia's friends from the Ministry had congregated in the corner and were dancing in time to the music. Oliver Wood had apparently arrived and was sitting at the table with Katie and Alicia and a few others. If the wild gestures he was making with his hands were any evidence, he was in the midst of a gregarious Quidditch story. Lee and Indira were sitting on the couch – Libby had wedged herself between them and was chatting a mile a minute.

"So," George said to Angelina, pulling the cork out of the top of the firewhisky bottle and pouring a several inches into the bottom of his cup, "what would you like to drink?"

"Surprise me."

He looked over the collection of bottles set up on the top of the bookshelf. A rich, amber-coloured bottle of curacao caught his eye – it was her favourite, he knew. Unscrewing the cap, the citrusy scent of oranges assaulted his nose. Though he had never tried it, memories of the liquor's taste on her mouth assaulted his mind. His hand shook as he poured it into a small white cup and added a splash of juice. Handing her the drink, her hand brushed against his. He felt his mouth go as dry as if he had eaten Doxy powder. His heart leapt up into his throat as he recalled the heat of her palms against his bare skin.

"Curacao?" she asked as she took a sip of the orange liquid. "Good choice – it's my favourite."

George's mouth moved as though he was speaking, but his brain struggled to form words. A desperate need to say something, anything, to fill the lag of time rose up in his chest, and so he drained his firewhisky in a single mouthful. "Oh, yeah. It is, isn't it?" he said, finally finding his voice as the burning sensations from the liquid slid down his throat. Occlumency should be listed as a prerequisite to agreeing to attend a party with a woman. Was she smiling at him because she approved of the drink he chose, or because she too was caught up in past memories? Reaching for the bottle, he refilled his cup – it was going to be a long evening.

"Well, look who finally showed up."

George's head swivelled in the direction of Alicia's voice, thankful for the distraction from his thoughts. The brunette had risen from the table where Oliver and Katie still sat and was walking towards the entranceway where Lora and Michael-the-Muggle Carmichael stood, still bundled in their coats and scarves. She wrapped Lora into a slightly overzealous hug and nudged the blonde girl's husband playfully with her elbow.

"You know, we were starting to think you two weren't going to show up, weren't we, Ang?" Alicia called in the general direction of George and Angelina, never turning her head from the newcomers.

George was startled when he felt Angelina tug on the sleeve of his robe. She tipped her head in the direction of her friends, as though asking him to accompany her. He grinned and topped off both of their drinks before following her to the group of people congregated in the flat's open doorway.

"Lora," Angelina said, also pulling her into a hug, "I'm glad you made it. We've missed you."

"Ah. I've missed you all – not living in London anymore is so strange." Lora stepped back into Michael the Muggle's side. "I'm sorry we're so late. Since we were in the city, we stopped in to see both our parents." She gazed up at the sandy-haired man with a look of doting admiration. "We had some news to share with them, and of course we wanted to wish them a happy New Year."

"Lora," Alicia said, smirking, "if I didn't teach you to do this myself, I'd be shocked. You're fishing for somebody to ask you what your news is – well played, my friend, well played."

"I'm - I don't know – I'm not fishing for you to ask me anything, Alicia." Even in the dim lighting, George could see the blonde woman's cheeks turn a shade of scarlet that could give any of the Weasleys a run for their Galleons. Despite the indignation in her voice and the blush on her face, her eyes were bright. Michael the Muggle squeezed her shoulder, and she seemed to remember that she had been trying to say something. "But, since you asked, no matter how rudely – " she shot the gloating brunette a stern look, before beaming around the entire group "— we do have some news. Some pretty exciting news, actually." Her voice practically squeaked. "I, erm, we – "

"Lora and I, we're going to have a baby," Michael the Muggle said, picking up his wife's faltering words. "Isn't that brilliant?"

If George hadn't played Quidditch and celebrated victories with Angelina and Alicia, he wouldn't have believed that the squeals that came out of them were human in origin. A grin spread out across his face and he found himself shaking Michael the Muggle's hand and clapping him on the shoulder without thinking. There was something profound about the couple's news – a new life for the new year, for the new world – and it was beautiful.

The next few hours passed on a wave of that understood, yet unarticulated notion. Lee had managed to pull himself and Indira away from the clutches of Libby's stories of self-glorification, and had launched himself on a campaign of increasingly slurred congratulatory toasts. George wasn't sure how many firewhiskies had ensued, when he had traded in his white cup for the bottle, or why he had been so nervous and agitated earlier in the evening. It was nearly a new year – and everything was better than it had been in a long while. Michael the Muggle swayed in time to the music that still played from the wireless, Lora wrapped up in his arms. Katie and Alicia were immersed in a deep pool of gossip with the latter's coworkers. Lee appeared to be in the midst of some sort of interpretive dance – Indira's shoulders shook from her attempts not to laugh at his antics. Libby, to everyone's amusement, had managed to seduce Oliver into a corner, where two had been snogging, none too subtly. They had all placed bets on how long it would continue before she felt the need to tell everyone about it, the winner getting the rights to inform Oliver that he had spent the evening in the arms of the infamous Libby McNulty. George smiled – he couldn't have imagined a better way to spend the evening.

"Oh, George, look," Angelina said stepping away from him – he was suddenly aware that she had been leaning back against his chest, and that he had been standing with his arms draped over her shoulders. She pulled the curtains back from the window. "The Muggles from upstairs are lighting fireworks out there." She grabbed his arm and tugged him towards the window. "They're not as good as Fred's and your fireworks, but they're still pretty – oh no." Her jaw dropped. "We didn't miss midnight, did we?"

"Nah," he said, checking his pocket watch, "there's only five minutes left until midnight – why don't we go outside and count down with your neighbours?" He was acutely aware that he had no idea what to do with his hands. Slipping them into his pockets, he turned away from the window to the interior of the flat. "Oi, grab your drinks. There're some people counting down to midnight on the street. We should all join – take our party out to them."

Outside, in the frigid night air, beneath a colourful display of fireworks, and mixed amongst a cluster of Muggles – who thankfully never batted their eyes at the group of people who had joined them dressed in robes – they all waited anxiously for midnight. George glanced away from one particular Muggle who had a giant, glowing clock on a rather ostentatious top hat to Angelina, who was standing with her head tipped back, watching the sky. He was rather impressed with her balance—when he tipped his head back in a similar fashion, the world spun. Taking his hands out from his pocket, he touched her elbow.

"Count down with me?" he smiled as she stepped under his arm.

"Ten," the small crowd said in unison.

George glanced down at Angelina, surprised at the quiet ease they had settled into as the evening had progressed. He wondered if it was only due to the alcohol they had drunk – if it would last once they were both sober.

"Nine… eight – "

"You're right, you know," he whispered over the crowd's count. "My fireworks are much better than these."

She tipped her head up at him – her lips parted in a wide smile, and smacked his chest playfully.

"Five… four –"

Her smile jolted something in the back of his mind, and a smattering of sweat broke out on the palms of his hands. Was he supposed to kiss her at midnight?

"Three –"

Something stirred in his stomach at the thought. He would gladly kiss her at midnight, but not at the cost of their friendship, or whatever it was they shared.

"Two –"

This was going to have to be her decision. He turned to face her and returned her smile.

"One –"

Several fireworks cracked overhead, and murmurings of "Happy New Year!" rippled through the crowd of witches, wizards, and Muggles gathered on the street corner.

George pulled Angelina into a hug, hoping that she couldn't feel the spike in his pulse as her body nestled into his chest. He sensed her eyes on his face, but before he could process this or even begin to react, he felt her press her lips to his cheek. It was the confirmation he needed, and he turned his head towards the kiss, imagining the feel of her lips on his own once again. However, he did not get the chance to bring his thoughts to fruition. She ended the kiss just as suddenly as she had started it, and laid her head on his shoulder. Bringing his hand up and brushing her braids back from her face, he pressed his own lips to the top of her head.

"Happy New Year, Ang," he whispered into her hair.

~::~


	10. Angelina, August 1995

**Angelina, August 1995**

Angelina visits Diagon Alley for some start-of-term shopping.

_Instead, their afternoon exploring the shops and purchasing the items on their Hogwarts lists passed to the soundtrack of laughter, playful teasing, and stories from their summer holidays. _

* * *

The heat wave that had taken up residence hovering in the skies over most of England that summer had been particularly nasty over the past week. Temperatures had topped out around thirty-five degrees, and not a drop of rain had fallen. According to the Muggle news programme that her dad had watched every evening for as long as she could remember, town and boroughs across the country had banned the use of hosepipes.

Sitting on the sofa and gazing out the large bay window overlooking her mum's garden, Angelina idly wondered whether such limitations had any consequences for the witches and wizards tucked away from the notice of Muggles. Here, the ordinances on water had limited the spells and charms her mum was able to use, and though they had lasted a bit longer than their neighbours' gardens had, her own neatly manicured hedges and flowers had finally succumbed. Somehow, the withered stalks and dried leaves on the other side of the glass made the oppressive heat within the house more bearable.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Angelina sighed, nearly jumping at how loud it sounded in the stillness of the afternoon. It would be a few hours still until either her dad's shift at the Food Market or her mum's shift at St. Mungo's ended, and it had been over a year since her last sister moved out on her own – Brianne was now living in France as an apprentice to some noted fashion designer. Elise had been living with her fiancé's family in Ireland since she had completed her N.E.W.T.s nearly three years ago, and worked in their apothecary. Only her oldest sister, Valerie, was staying at the Johnson residence. She had been visiting from the United States with Andre and the new baby, Elliot, since his birth. Her husband, who was an area on continuing contention seeing as the family had never actually met him, was less than no support in matters concerning his children, and though she never said so outright, Valerie seemed to reluctant to leave behind the help her family was providing.

Angelina wiped the beads of sweat that had gathered on her brow with the back of her hand and racked her brain for something to entertain herself with until her nephew woke from his nap, or her sister returned. Grateful not to have to drag the four-year-old along, her sister had packed up Elliot for a day of showing him off to her old school friends and had left Andre under Angelina's care.

At a loss for ideas, novel or otherwise, she stood up from the sofa, stretched, and made her way to the kitchen – biscuits were always a good companion to help pass the time, and she was almost certain that there was a brand new tin in the cabinet.

Once her nephew woke up, she was certain she'd be able to entertain herself for several hours, at least. Last night, during a particularly competitive game of hide-and-seek, Andre had found her broomstick and Quidditch robes in the hall closet – the ultimate hiding spot in the mind of any four-year old. Angelina remembered hiding there herself when she and Brianne used to play. He had been keen to learn about flying ever since, and she was equally keen to teach him. Her mum never got rid of anything, and her dad never meddled with magical things, so her childhood broom was likely to still be in the house somewhere. Perhaps she and Andre could search for it together.

Grasping the tin of biscuits from the top shelf – her mum seemed to think that storing them almost out of reach would deter her family from eating them too quickly – she plopped down at the kitchen table and opened it. Her stomach rumbled in response to the assorted collection of delicious baked treats – custard creams, jammy dodgers, bourbons and digestives – and she groaned. Choosing just one biscuit from the tin was simply impossible – comparable to a mother being asked to choose a favourite son or daughter – so it was best to just accept the enormous failure in her diet that was about to occur.

Resigned, Angelina plucked a bourbon and a jammy dodger from the tin and turned her attention to the copy of the _Prophet_ that her mum had left on the table that morning.

The titles of various trivial articles swam across her vision as she thumbed through the pages it was opened to – _Fudge Voted One of England's Most Stylish_; _Overweight Workers Blame Overuse of Summoning Charm; Florean Fortescue Reveals New Ice Cream Flavour. _Her mum was right: For every pertinent article, there were a dozen or more articles just filling space on the pages. Picking up a digestive and another bourbon, she flipped the paper over to the front page. A large black-and-white photograph of Harry and Cedric, taken prior the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, accompanied the leading story. The headline, '_Potter Plotter, Liar too?_' rippled across the page in a bold typeface.

A sigh of vexation escaped her lips, and for a moment she was grateful she was alone as the bite of biscuit in her mouth threatened to jump ship. If it wasn't Harry's face decorating the front page, it had been Professor Dumbledore's. Angelina had followed the series of articles attempting to discredit them, and had slowly been able to sort her thoughts. Even though she wasn't entirely sure how to process the return of You-Know-Who or how to feel about the way with which her headmaster was handling the Ministry, she decided that she trusted Harry Potter. She had shared the Gryffindor common room and locker room with him for four years, and while he was without a doubt a peculiar individual, he had never been a liar.

Dissatisfied with it, she tossed the paper into the middle of the table and took a fifth and sixth biscuit from the tin.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a small figure still rubbing the sleep from his eye. Despite it being hotter than a dragon's lair in the house, Andre had insisted on napping beneath a thick quilt, and his cheeks were flushed and sweaty.

When the boy finally looked up, his eyes widened. "Angelina," he shouted and scampered across the tile floor. "Mommy said I get to spend the day with you, and it's true." With a look of determination on his face, he crawled up onto her lap, none too gracefully. "I really don't have to share you with Mommy's new baby?"

"Nope." Angelina ruffled his hair. "Your mum took Elliot with her to visit some friends. It's just you and me until they come home. What do you think we should do?" When Andre didn't answer, she leaned around him to look at his face. His brow was furrowed and the tip of his tongue stuck out from the corner of his mouth in the most serious of manners. A look of concentration radiated from eyes, which stared straight ahead at the opened tin. Her words had clearly been lost on the boy, understandably, in favour of biscuits. "So, Mr Serious," she said, bouncing him on her knee, "what're you looking at that's more important than our itinerary?"

"I'm not looking at anything," Andre piped up; his voice hitched in self-defence. "Mommy says I'm not allowed to eat cookies before dinner. Says all they do is ruin my appetite 'cause of the fat."

Angelina pursed her lips, trying not to laugh at the boy's American accent, and wondered for a moment what his father sounded like. "Well, how about we keep this as our little secret, then?" She handed him a custard cream from the tin. "How about some water to drink with that?"

He eyed it hesitantly for a moment before grabbing it with eager fingers and nodding. "So," he said slowly, pausing to lick the cream from the centre of the biscuit, "what's an itery?"

"An itinerary?" She drew her wand from her pocket and, summoning a glass of water, handed it to him. It was so convenient to be of age. "Well, it's a plan, like, erm, a list of things to do."

"Lists are boring." Angelina watched as the boy slid down from her lap and ran towards the door, the cup of water forgotten. "Bet you can't do this." He jumped up, and spun around with all the coordination and grace his four-year-old limbs could handle. "You try."

She laughed. "No, I'm certain I can't do that, but –" She leant down and bent her finger, beckoning him to her. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Intrigued, Andre nodded and scampered back over to her side.

"I don't like lists either, but I don't think we'll need one – that is if you chose to accept this super-secret mission we were assigned." She waited to see if he took the bait she had laid out.

Valerie had mentioned once how much Andre loved watching their father's old Muggle secret agent films. It had been a while since Angelina had seen one, and she could only hope she had referenced the genre correctly. Her own childhood had been a fairly equal balance the Muggle world and the magical one, but now that she was of age and could use magic at will, she found herself needing to use things like the microwave oven or public transportation less and less. She slowly felt herself drawing away from her father's world of electricity, appliances, films, and automobiles. Perhaps after he returned from work and settled in for the evening, she would watch some television with him – they had always enjoyed the evening comedy programs.

"A secret mission?"

Andre's voice pulled her from her thoughts – he had taken her bait.

"Oh, yes," Angelina said in her most serious voice. "I received word that somewhere in this house, there is a broomstick that is exactly –" she poked him in the chest "– your size. And if we find it, I may be able to teach you how to fly. So, what do you think? Should we accept this secret mission?"

He paused for a several seconds before nodding very seriously. "Let's do this."

Settling back onto the sofa by the window, she smiled – she had absolutely no idea where her mum had stashed her childhood broom, but Andre didn't need to know that. Looking around the room, her eyes landed on the first item of her impromptu scavenger hunt. The remote control for the television peeked out from a basket of other odds and ends. This game would surely keep him busy for a while.

Having found the remote control, a potato from the bin in the pantry, and a roll of scotch tape from the desk in the upstairs hallway, Andre was running back and forth through the house attempting to locate a Quaffle. A look of pride and determination was pasted to his face.

"Angelina, Angelina." His voice echoed into the sitting room from the back of the house. "I didn't find the Quaffle, but I found a huge owl on the counter. I think you should come here – it keeps staring at me."

Though he had tried to sound brave, Angelina could hear the panic in his voice and hurried to the kitchen. There, sitting on the counter, was one of the school's large barn owls. A slim roll of parchment sealed with an elaborate wax seal was tied to its left leg.

Hogwarts letters had finally arrived.

~::~

"So, Quidditch captain then, Ang?" Alicia smirked at her over the bowl of butter toffee ice cream that sat between them on the table. "You know this means you should share the password to the prefects' bathroom with me, right?"

The awning outside of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour was doing very little to shade the patio from the heat of the late summer sun. Angelina wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, regretting her decision to wait here for Lora instead of inside one of the shops. After their booklists had arrived, the girls had decided that should all meet up to do their shopping. Looking around the bustling alley, it seemed as though everyone else in the school had had a similar idea – the queues in the shops were going to be heinous. Despite the oppressive heat and the sure-to-be-long-lines, this was the first time they had made a trip to the narrow, winding street without their parents in tow, and it felt glorious to stretch their newly acquired Apparition rights.

"Oh, absolutely." She smiled and rolled her eyes at Alicia. "Truthfully, the first thing I thought when I saw the letter was, 'Now I can risk my badge and share the password to the prefects' bathroom with Alicia.' It's like you can read my mind or something."

"A-ha. It was just a thought." Pouting, the brunette scooped an exceptionally large bite of ice cream onto her spoon. "Are you going to eat any more of this?"

Angelina shook her head and pushed the bowl across the table.

"You know, I am happy for you," Alicia mumbled through a mouthful of ice cream. "Now you can make sure that nobody annoying makes the team."

"I'm not going to be partial at the try-outs – we're not Slytherin House. And besides, if we want to win the cup, we'll have to field the best team," she said, shooting her best friend a disproving look. "Not the coolest one."

"And this, Angelina, is precisely why _you're_ the Gryffindor team captain."

"Oh my Merlin, Ang, congratulations," a familiar voice practically shouted from behind their table. "That's brilliant."

Angelina spun around to see the bright face of Lora Paisley rounding the corner of the ice cream parlour, with a stocky, sandy-haired figure following closely behind her. As they approached the table, it became evident that he was incredibly nervous – his eyes were the size of dinner plates and he held himself more stiffly than the suits of armour in the castle did. Lora had kept a motionless Muggle photograph of her beau on her bedside table in their dormitory, but Angelina had never seen the boy in person. Glancing at Alicia and smiling, she knew that they were both thinking the same thing – they were finally going to get to meet the legendary Michael the Muggle.

"Thanks, Lora." She smiled at the blonde girl. "So –"

"Who is this dashing friend of yours?" Alicia interrupted, blinking at Lora innocently. Michael the Muggle's title had been a product of her own teasing, and it behoved her to be the one to lead his introduction. "Anyone we should know?"

Lora's shot her a stern look before turning to grab Michael's arm. "Michael, this_ lovely _individual with the really attractive smudge of ice cream on her chin is Alicia Spinnet –"

Her eyes widened, her mouth dropped open, and a deep blush seeped across her face. Her fingers fumbled hurrying to grab a paper napkin from the dispenser on the table.

"– and this is Angelina Johnson. Alicia and Angelina, this is my boyfriend, Michael Carmichael."

"Erm, it's nice to finally meet you two." Michael stuck out his hand to shake theirs and chuckled nervously. "Lora talks about you both so much, I feel like I already know you. Sorry about the sweaty palms – all this is a bit overwhelming." He gestured around the alley. "I've gotten used to Lora being magical and all, but this much magic, it's sort of surreal."

Angelina offered the nervous Muggle the warmest smile she could muster. "Well, I can promise I won't turn you into a toad or anything –"

"I can't."

"– and don't mind Alicia either, her pride is easily bruised."

"Aw. Well, hopefully nobody turns me into a toad today." Michael the Muggle smiled – he was beginning to look less nervous as their conversation continued. "So, Quidditch captain?" he asked turning towards Angelina. "That's brilliant. I can't even imagine watching a game while sitting on a broomstick."

A laugh snuck up on her, and she quickly disguised it as a cough.

Not seeming to notice, he continued talking – he certainly was a chatty character. "I'm sure Lora told you she was asked to be Head Girl."

"No, she did not," Angelina gasped as she turned towards the blonde. "Lora, when were you going to tell us? Congratulations."

Lora's face flushed as a smile crept up from her mouth to her eyes.

"Well," Alicia huffed, "I suppose you won't be sharing the password to the prefect bathroom with me, either."

A silence fell over the table as they each turned and smirked at the cranky brunette. One by one, Angelina, Michael the Muggle, Lora, and finally even Alicia herself burst into laughter.

It was so refreshing to be back with her friends after the long summer holiday, and Angelina never ceased to be amazed by how easy it was for them to simply pick up where they had last left off, almost as if no time had passed. Of course, worries about the upcoming year – passing N.E.W.T.s and finding a job – flitted into her mind as they made their way down the alley, but she didn't mention them. If the same worries plagued Lora and Alicia, she couldn't tell. Instead, their afternoon exploring the shops and purchasing the items on their Hogwarts lists passed to the soundtrack of laughter, playful teasing, and stories from their summer holidays.

The line at Flourish and Blots had been so long that it had wrapped around the shop and out the double front door, and waiting outside in the high temperatures had left Angelina's forehead coated in a thin sheen of sweat. Despite the thick layer of dust coating it, the dim interior of the apothecary was a reprieve from the sunlit street. Though she hated the smell of apothecaries, it was preferable to the unusually warm weather.

Feeling the heat radiate off of her skin into the cool air, she wiped her hand across her face and made her way to the advanced potions supply section.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Michael the Muggle and Lora standing at a bin of black beetles. The look on his face – confusion with a hint of disgust masquerading as a smile – nearly caused Angelina to choke on her chewing gum as she tried to stifle her laugh. Shaking her head, she dug her hands into a bin of dragon claws. She only needed a few grams for her potions kit, and as overpriced as whole claws were, she hoped to find a small one.

"Come on, Dung, you didn't think that we–"

"– wouldn't follow up on our business investments." The voices of George and Fred Weasley carried in the dusty air from around a row of bookshelves.

Angelina's head snapped up in curiosity – she hadn't expected to see them here today. She hadn't heard from George since a few days after term ended, when a large, reddish-coloured owl had appeared at her window. She knew that it was difficult to stay in touch with people over summer holidays, but rationale didn't prevent her from wondering whether or not he even wanted to stay in touch with her. Tucking her braids behind her ears, she peered around the corner of the shelves. She couldn't see either of the twins, but she could see the man they were talking to.

"And does yer mother know you two're here? I'm sure Molly'd have a fit if I told her you're out and about," the wizard said in a whistling voice. He was short and stocky, and wore a robe so wrinkled that she wouldn't be surprised if he had slept in it. Leave it to Fred and George to consort with the likes of him.

"Does our mother know we're here? Why, Georgie –"

"I'm almost ashamed of our dear friend, Freddie, trying to blackmail us like that."

"Especially when we know he's got a pocket full of Doxy eggs –"

" – that the Office of Magical Law Enforcement would be all too happy to take off his hands –"

The unkempt man dropped the volume of his voice and began muttering something that Angelina couldn't discern. She leaned forward, hoping to catch at least some of it. His head swivelled in her direction as he continued murmuring under his breath, and realizing how ridiculous she looked spying on their conversation, she stepped further back behind the shelf.

"Ah," she exclaimed as she collided with a firm body.

"Angie, Angie, Angie," Fred said as he spun her around to face him, "I'm almost envious of your eavesdropping prowess, but alas, almost doesn't quite count." He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and walked her away from the shelving and the sound of George's voice. "I could see a bit of your face peering between the bins of newts and crow beaks the whole time." He winked.

"I, erm, I was –"

"It's okay. I know you couldn't _possibly_ be interested in our little chat with Dung." He turned towards her with a smirk on his face. "Which leaves only one possibility – you just wanted an opportunity to stare at my brother's handsome mug."

She felt heat rise up to her cheeks and inhaled before attempting to speak again. "You caught me – that's exactly what I was trying to do. Merlin knows it's loads more handsome than yours."

"You wound my pride, but I'm just going to let that one go." He grinned at her before continuing. "I want you to hear me out for a moment. George is the _best_ sort of bloke and anyone would be lucky to have him, but he's a bit daft when it comes to, well, when it comes to–"

"When it comes to what, exactly, Fred?"

George had appeared next to them – his conversation with _Dung_ apparently over. He gave Fred a look that Angelina couldn't quite translate before smiling at her. All her worries about him not writing her over the summer vanished as she felt her lips mirroring his smile.

"Oi, is that _the _Michael the Muggle over with Lora?" Fred said, ignoring his twin's question. "If you two will excuse me, I need to go and meet this legend."

"So, erm," Angelina said slowly, watching Fred conveniently disappear behind the corner after the couple. She wished he would have finished whatever it was he was going to tell her before he walked away. "Did you have a good summer? I hadn't heard back from you since you wrote last."

"Oh, I'm sorry about that. It's been an interesting summer, to say the least. Sending post hasn't exactly been easy." He shrugged his shoulders and his face twisted in frustration. "I am sorry."

"An interesting summer?"

"Eh, don't worry about it. We're staying with some family friends. Muggle London – Mum was worried about Oddie coming and going. You know how that goes."

His words were smooth, but Angelina couldn't help but wonder if they were totally honest. "So, how're things going for your shop?" she said quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed her eyes lingering on his face for a moment too long to be accidental. "I'm so excited for you and Fred."

"Ah, we're just trying to get some supplies and things together, but some of our sources are" - George's eyes slipped over to where he had just been talking to Dung - "a little less than reliable. With all things considered, we're planning on running product trials this term. So, how w –"

"– would you like to go to dinner with him, is what he was about to ask you."

Angelina surprised, turned to see Fred smiling at her side.

"Fred, I, er. Angelina –" His ears a shocking shade of red, George stumbled over his words.

"Turns out that Lora was chosen as Head Girl, and Angelina here has been asked to captain the finest House Quidditch team in the school." His grin had risen up into his eyes.

"Really?" George exclaimed, turning towards her. "Angelina, that's great."

"And so you want to ask her to dinner –" Fred's voice coached.

Angelina ignored Fred and, without thinking, reached forward to grab George's hand. "I'd love to go to dinner, George."

"Well, this is just brilliant." Fred clapped both of them on the back. "Lora, Michael the Muggle, Alicia, Lee, and I were just about to meet at the Leaky Cauldron – talk about coincidences."

"Yes, coincidences. Trelawney would be so proud of you," George said, rolling his eyes. He offered Angelina a smile that she could only describe as apologetic and squeezed her hands before dropping them and turning towards the shop door.

She wasn't sure if it was his smile, her anticipation to begin captaining the Gryffindor Quidditch team, or the feel of his broad hands around hers, but a light tingle buzzed in her head as she fell into step with him.

~::~


End file.
